


The Air of Institution

by DarylDixonGrimes



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Bondage, College AU, Cumplay, Flogging, Fluff, M/M, Racial slurs, Rimming, Sexual Tension, Spanking, TW: Panic Attacks, actual adorable dweeb Glenn Rhee, and by eventually i mean very soon, because I am incapable of writing a story like a lady, bottom!daryl, helpful Maggie, nervous freshman Daryl Dixon, safe sex, sexy professor Rick Grimes, there will be smut eventually, top!rick, tw: abuse, tw: depression, tw: slurs of a homophobic/misogynistic nature, tw: social anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 06:00:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 46
Words: 157,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3967075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarylDixonGrimes/pseuds/DarylDixonGrimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl Dixon is starting his first year in college, egged on by his father who insists on him getting a degree no matter what he wants to do. He doesn't understand the point of having to take courses outside of his major, but when he finds out the professor of his History 101 class is "drop dead gorgeous," he begins to think that maybe the class won't be so bad after all. If he can survive the professor's rigorous standards, that is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Professor Grimes

**Author's Note:**

> I was beginning to feel like I owe Rickyl a multi-chapter fic seeing as they're my main ship. And now here we are.

Daryl didn't understand why he had to take this damn class. All he wanted was to work on cars, and his overbearing upper-working-class-barely-and-by-the-damn-bootstraps dad had finally agreed as long as his son went on to college for it.

“Alright. They make degrees in that. Go get one.” So he had signed up to start working toward a B.S. in Automotive Technology, applied for what seemed like about a hundred scholarships with his father breathing down his neck, filled out a FAFSA with even more neck-breathing, and then jumped on his bike with nothing but a set of sheets and some clothes on his back.

And now Daryl was sitting uncomfortably in the back row of a tiny classroom watching other students file in one by one. He looked down at his schedule again. _History 101 - MWF 10:30-11:50 - Humanities Bldg 112 - Grimes_.

What the hell did he need history for just to diagnose why an engine was making some weird sputtering noise?

He sighed deeply and took out a notebook, some dollar store number with a red plastic cover he'd scrawled “Daryl Dixon. Monroe Hall. Room 212” onto the night before in black Sharpie. He took a marker out of his backpack and added “History” underneath, the pungent smell of the ink making the inside of his nose tickle.

“You know anything about this professor?”

Daryl looked over at some girl sitting next to him with short brown hair. She was smiling earnestly but reasonably, her eyes bright, probably full of excitement for the first day of college and all that jazz that people told him he should be feeling. He could tell she was beautiful, the kind of girl that a guy like him should want... if he'd wanted girls at all.

“Nah,” he answered.

“Heard he's drop dead gorgeous but hard to please.”

“Pfft. Ain't they all?” Daryl muttered without meaning too, and the girl next to him giggled into her hand.

“I'm Maggie, by the way.”

“Daryl.”

“You staying in Blake?” she asked. Blake Hall. Ha. Like he could afford it.

“Nah. Monroe.” Daryl looked back down at his notebook and his cheap little Bic pen laying beside it, suddenly feeling more self-conscious of his threadbare plaid shirt and his jeans with the patched up hole in the knee.

“What's it like?” she asked.

“It's alright,” Daryl said. Truth was, Monroe Hall was just fine. It was vintage, for lack of a better word, and a little dusty in places, but it was still nicer than what he was used to, which was a double-wide trailer on a stack of questionably sturdy cinder blocks.

“Think that's him,” Maggie said, jerking her head toward the front of the classroom. “Well, RateMyProfessor certainly didn't lie about that... ”

Daryl looked up, but the man had his back turned by now, scrawling a single date on the board. His jacket hid any details that might've been interesting from the back, but he did have nice handwriting.

_ 3500 BCE _

BCE? Daryl could've sworn that E shouldn't be there. Wasn't it Before Christ and then some Latin shit he could never remember? Ano dominatrix? Nah, that wasn't right.

He tried the think more on the subject, but before his mind could even make an immature joke about “anal domination,” the professor turned back around to the class and Daryl inhaled so sharply that he started coughing. Blue eyes shot to his.

“Are you alright, Mr...?” His voice was smoother than a bike ride on a freshly paved road.

“Dixon,” Daryl choked out. “Sorry, uh, sir. Professor, um...” He looked down at his schedule again. “Professor Grimes. Sorry.” Daryl forced his body back under his control, swallowing back any more coughs before they could escape and make him look like any more of an idiot.

“Right, well, maybe you can tell me the significance of 3500 BCE, Mr. Dixon.”

Daryl's chest constricted in a panic, and all he wanted in that moment was to know the answer. He wanted to impress this man more than he had ever wanted to impress anyone. Any other class, he'd be playing it off like he didn't care that he didn't know, but “drop dead gorgeous” had been a damn understatement. Why couldn't it have been 1776 or 1492 or something he remembered? 

Oh, Professor Grimes, you got no damn idea how much I wish I fucking knew.

“I'm sorry, I...” Daryl's hands shook, and he hid them under his desk, afraid that even from all the way up at the front of the classroom, the professor might see them.

“Then turn to page 27 in your book and read the first paragraph out loud for us.”

“I...” Daryl hadn't bought his books yet either. The scholarships and loans hadn't gotten him that far, and his dad had told him he wouldn't have money for them until next paycheck, which wasn't until the Friday after classes started. Classes started on a Wednesday, so he'd probably be okay. That had been the logic anyway.   
  
The professor quirked an eyebrow up at him.

Daryl was dying inside. He had made a spectacle out of himself on the first fucking day and to top it off, he looked like an unprepared dumbass.

“Here,” Maggie hissed, sliding her book onto his desk, already open to the right page.

“Thank you,” Daryl said back. “Okay, I... I'm ready.”

Professor Grimes nodded at him once and made a little  _go on then_ motion with his hand, so Daryl leaned down over the book and started to read, praying that he could get through this without stumbling over any words.  It was only two medium-length paragraphs, but it felt like an eternity before the professor stopped him and started his lecture. 

* * *

“God, what a fucking nightmare,” Daryl said to Maggie as they walked out of the Humanities building. He had decided as soon as she slid her book over that she was his first official friend in college. Well, after his roommate if that even counted.

Friends. Daryl had friends. Well,  _a_ friend, but damn. It was a lot better than his idiot brother who had done them all proud by getting hauled off to prison as soon as he hit eighteen.  Dumbass had tried to solicit an undercover cop by offering her a bag of cocaine in exchange for a little rub-n-tug.  Kinda hard to get out of that one. 

It had put all the pressure to make something successful out of the Dixon bloodline squarely on Daryl's shoulders, and he resented him for it so much that he almost felt guilty about it.

“You did alright on the readin at least,” Maggie said. “But I can't really blame you for gettin all flustered. No one should be allowed to look like that in a tweed jacket of all things.”

Daryl froze and turned to look at her. He hadn't said he was gay, hadn't thought his little comment was enough to read that way either. Hell, that was probably one of his biggest secrets next to that time he'd kissed his cousin in their aunt's closet at the family reunion just to see what all the damn fuss was about in movies. Granted they were both nine, and she was a third cousin, but it still made him shudder a little to think about it.

“I never... How did he look exactly?”

Maggie gave him a withering glance.

“Please, Daryl,” she said. “Surprised you weren't doodlin Daryl Grimes on your notebook with little hearts around it.”

“And you're still talkin to me?” Daryl asked, but his brain switched directions before he even let her answer. “Oh shit, do you think  _he_ noticed?”

“If he did, he's probably used to it,” she said. “Half the reviews on RateMyProfessor are about how blue his eyes are or how wavy his hair is or how his legs look when he squats down to pick a marker up off the floor. He's definitely got a chili pepper.”

“And the other half?” Daryl asked, pretending he knew what the hell she was talking about. 

“About how he shouldn't be allowed to teach basic courses because he's too tough when most of the kids in his class aren't even going into the history field.”

“Great. I'm gonna fail,” Daryl said. “Shoulda checked that site before I signed up.” But he felt a little twinge of regret at the just the thought of an alternate timeline that didn't involve him getting to stare at Professor Grimes three days a week. And he didn't have his own computer anyway.

“No you won't,” Maggie said, putting her hand on his shoulder with the ease that girls only had with a guy they knew one hundred percent was never going to view them as a sex object. “Top of my class in high school. You, Mr. Dixon, are officially my study partner.” She smiled before adding quietly, like she knew he wouldn't want anyone to even maybe hear, “And my gossip about hot professors partner.”

“Thanks.” Daryl pulled out from under her hand, tilting his shoulder a little so it would just fall away. He was grateful that she just let it drop without saying anything. He wasn't used to having a friend, let alone having someone offer to do something nice for him without it coming with some kind of ultimatum like “if you could take a look at the Chevy” or “doing better in life than I did.” He started to open his mouth to say something, though he wasn't sure what, when he heard his name floating over from across the quad.

“Daryl! Hey Daryl!”

Both his and Maggie's heads snapped up at the voice.

“Friend?” she asked.

“I don't know,” Daryl answered. Because he didn't. And then he realized that was a weird way to answer and added, “My roommate.”

A black head of hair jogged over across the grass, and Daryl saw his roommate's eyes snapping to his female companion as soon as he was close enough to make out her features.

_Oh boy._ Even Daryl could tell that she was way out of his league. She was way out of his own league too though really, but he was already batting for a different team even if he hadn't let them announce him on the roster yet.  

“So, you're Daryl's roommate? I'm Maggie. Maggie Greene.”

“Yeah, I'm Gloommate.” The kid's eyes went wide when he realized his word fumble. He glanced over at Daryl like he could somehow help him and then back at the girl. “I mean, I'm Daryl's roommate. Glenn. I'm Glenn.”

“Nice to meet ya, Glenn.” She smiled and turned back to Daryl, tugging his history notebook from where he'd been holding it close to his chest like a security blanket. She pulled a pen out from behind her ear and scribbled something on the inside cardboard of the back cover before handing it back to him. “Our first test is Monday if he sticks to the syllabus, which I reckon he will. Text me and we'll pick a time to meet up in the library.”

She smiled at him and then at Glenn again before walking away.

“Holy crap,” Glenn said, when she was finally out of earshot, turning his head slightly toward Daryl but unable to pry his eyes off of Maggie's retreating figure. “You've got game, man.”

“What?” Daryl asked, and then he realized what Glenn was suggesting. “Nah, man, it's not like that.”

“So you're not interested in...?”

“Nah,” Daryl said. “Not my type.”

“Bro, that girl is everyone's type.” Glenn shook his head.

“What you want anyway, yellin at me loud enough for the whole world to hear?”

“I thought you might wanna go to the dining hall with me for lunch. Not like either of us know anyone yet. Well, I don't at least.”

“Sure, whatever.”

“Cool.”

Glenn hitched up his backpack and started strolling off. Truth was, Daryl was glad he asked, because he was low on Ramen in the dorm room and he didn't know where the dining hall was exactly. He hadn't felt comfortable enough yet to go find it on his own. He was used to the woods and to having grease under his fingernails, not this clean place with its thick air of institution and professors who made him weak in the knees.

“So,” Glenn asked, trying to fill the quiet. “How was your first class?”

Daryl thought of Professor Grimes, of that thick and smooth southern voice and that wavy hair, the hard face with just the hint of a shadow of where a beard could be if he'd let it. Piercing blue eyes locking on his.

“Gonna be hard, but I think I'll like it,” Daryl finally said, just as Glenn threw open the door to the Student Center.

“Mr. Dixon,” a low voice said in the same tone someone might say, “excuse me.” The man slid past him with a Styrofoam to-go container and a cup of coffee his hands. It took Daryl a second to react, his chest constricting with panic just like he was being put on the spot in the classroom all over again.

“Professor,” he finally said when he remembered how his tongue worked, but the older man was already gone, walking down the sidewalk back toward the Humanities building with purpose in each step.

Flustered all over again, Daryl turned back around and followed Glenn toward the smell of French fries.

 


	2. Dreams

Daryl could tell on his second day that Tuesdays and Thursdays would be his favorite, even if none of his teachers were anything he personally enjoyed looking at.

In the mornings, he had some basic math course. He had never been great at math, but the problems were simple enough that he could probably do them in his sleep. It would be an easy A that would help keep his GPA up, and he was grateful for that.

Afternoons, he got to spend in the automotive shop. It was on the edge of campus, and he'd needed a campus map and one of the green-shirted upper-class “Back to Class” volunteers to find it, but it smelled like grease and rubber, and it felt a lot more like home than his dorm in Monroe Hall ever would.

“This is an introductory course,” the professor explained. Unlike the other professors he'd encountered, she was wearing a standard mechanic's jumpsuit emblazoned with a patch bearing the university's logo. She was dark-skinned with dreads upon which rested a pair of safety glasses, and she looked like she could've kicked Daryl's ass with her hands tied behind her back. He liked her immediately. “We'll spend the semester discussing automotive technology, what the field can do for you and what you can do for the field. We'll get you ready to train further in working with modern computer systems in cars, with body work, and with team management, among other things. ”

“You'll also be required to complete twenty hours in the shop over the course of the semester,” she said. She pulled a roll of one-page syllabi from the back pocket of her jumpsuit and passed them around.

They spent more time talking about the industry, discussing what people planned to do with their degrees, their hopes and even their wildest imaginations. One kid wanted to supervise pit crews for NASCAR. Another wanted to do elaborate custom paint and body work. Other kids, like Daryl, knew they wanted to be near cars and didn't care how. He left out how he would have been just as happy working under-the-table at Joe's Autobody Repair but had been forced to go this route. That was done, and so it didn't matter anymore.

The professor gave them a tour of the shop, going over what they were allowed to do, what they weren't allowed to do without permission and/or supervision, and what they were never allowed to do, not this semester at least. She showed them the sign-in sheet for when they worked on their extra hours, and then she sent them on their way early, which seemed to have been a common thing for the first class of the semester in every single one he'd had except for History.

“Professor Adams,” Daryl said, stopping her before she focused her attention back on an almost brand new Ford sitting there in the garage.

“Yes, Mr...”

“Dixon,” he said. “About those twenty hours...”

“They're a requirement,” she said. “No ifs, ands, or buts. It's not even two hours a week if you spread it out.”

“No, it ain't that. It's... Is it okay if we do more?”

She broke into a broad smile, almost like she was proud. “Why wouldn't it be?”

Daryl was gonna have that requirement done in a damn week.

* * *

“Look, I can't fail this. My dad will skin me alive. You don't know what he's like.”

“You should've thought about that before you handed in a blank essay, Daryl.”

Daryl. Just hearing his first name slide off the lips of that man made him want to melt like ice cream on the 4th of July. He looked down at the paper, and sure enough it was blank. No, that wasn't right. That couldn't be right.

“I wrote it. I swear I did.”

The professor looked down at the paper again, and Daryl was relieved to see that there words there now.

“I see,” the older man said, and then he started reading it out loud. “ _'Professor Grimes is something to look at.'_ That right, Daryl? You think I'm somethin to look at?”

No, that wasn't what he wrote either. It couldn't be. Daryl leaned over the page, trying to look, but none of the words seemed to be words at all.

“ _I bet he tastes like the woods on an autumn morning. What I wouldn't give to get on my knees for him right there at the front of the classroom in front of everyone._ ”

“I didn't write that. I wouldnt have...”

“ _I want him to fuck my mouth. And then I want him to bend me over one of the desks in the front row._ ”

Daryl wanted to roll up into a little ball, smaller and smaller until he formed a singularity, and the universe just sucked him away into nothing like he never even was.

“Is this what you want?” The professor started undoing his belt, and Daryl's breathing went all sorts of awry. “Get on your knees then. Maybe you'll pass after all.”

Daryl slid onto the carpet and had his mouth around the professor before he had even finished working his slacks down.

Fuck, there was so much to take between his lips. Daryl sucked, hollowing out his cheeks and bobbing up and down the length, knowing full well that his grade (and his hide) depended on it.

The world shifted without warning, and the next thing he knew, he was leaning against the thick, mahogany podium at the front of the classroom, one of his legs held aloft by the man behind him, who was relentlessly pounding into his ass, moaning into his ear with that sweet honey voice.

“Keep this up, and you might make it past this semester alive, Daryl.”

The redneck gripped the sides of the podium, and then, groaning loudly and thinking it was much too soon, he came.

* * *

Daryl was white-knuckling the sides of his pillow when he woke up, his alarm clock blaring some local classic rock station next to him. He moved to turn it off and froze for a moment before finally bringing his hand down on the button, dreading what he already knew he was about to find.

His forest green sheets were sticky beneath him and smeared with white.

Fuck.

When was the last time he'd had a damn wet dream? Thirteen fucking years old?

What the hell was it about that fucking professor? It wasn't like he had never seen a hot guy ever in his life until now.

Fucking fuck.

He leaned out around the little half wall that divided his side of the dorm from Glenn's. He was already gone to his morning class. Thank god.

Taking his sheets with him, Daryl penguin-walked to the shower and got in, boxers and all, grateful that even old, outdated Monroe Hall had private bathrooms.

He spot-scrubbed his sheets, deciding he'd go find the laundry room after classes tonight, and then he scrubbed his boxers before he pulled them off and started on his usual morning shower.

Or tried to at least.

No matter how cold he made the water or how many times he tried to think of the woods at sunset or step-by-step instructions on how to perform a state inspection, he just couldn't get the memories of the damn dream out of his head. Professor Grimes holding his leg up and fucking him against the podium; that long, thick cock hitting the back of his throat.

He looked down, knowing full well before he even did that he would find his own cock hard and listing toward his tummy.

Fuck.

He had gotten up early on purpose, because he usually enjoyed having time to relax before he had to be anywhere. He had time if he wanted to...

But he had also intended to use that time to get ready, wanting to look less like he'd crawled in off the street today. He was probably never going to get Professor Grimes' dick, but he could at least try to get the man's respect.

It was too late though. His brain had gotten stuck on the thought that included “Professor Grimes' dick,” and it kept looping back to that endlessly like Daryl was stuck in some kind of Grimes' Dick Purgatory.

Sighing, he wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking it once from base to tip and moaning so quietly into the now-steamy bathroom that it was practically a whisper. 

He rubbed the entire length a couple more times, teasing himself, and then he let loose, stroking vigorously and touching himself in all the ways he knew his body liked, trying to get it over with quickly so he would still have time for everything else he had intended to do that morning. Thinking about letting the wavy haired man lay him down on top of his tweed jacket, he palmed over the head of his cock and cupped his own balls with his free hand, biting his lip to suppress a moan, knowing full well already how thin the damn walls were.

He tried to remember what the professor's voice had sounded like in the dream, that smooth southern silk moaning in his ear, and with that thought, he twisted his hand lightly around the tip of his erection before working his fist up and down the sensitive flesh again.

God, if he had a genie available, he'd make the same damn wish three times. Well, maybe he'd use one of them to actually pass history.

He closed his eyes tight, still biting his lip and thinking about the other man standing before him, working open his leather belt and black slacks, asking him if that's what he wanted.

Even now, frustrated as he was, Daryl couldn't think of anything he wanted more.

Sucking a finger into his mouth, the young mechanic got it as wet as he could and then reached back, sliding it into himself and working it in time with each stroke, fucking himself from both sides with rampant abandon.

That, coupled with imagining something bigger inside of him, sent him over the edge, and he came, whimpering quietly as he painted the shower wall.

* * *

“You sure you're not into that Maggie chick, dude?” Glenn asked after he'd closed the mini-fridge, cold piece of pizza in his hand. Turned out his roommate had a part time job delivering pizzas for Pepperoni Pete's, a local pizza chain and a campus favorite since a lot of people's parents had gone there. Daryl had a feeling he was going to get sick of pizza sometime by mid-September. “You look like you're going on a date.”

Daryl looked down. He had broken out the iron one of his aunts had forced on him as a going-to-college gift and ironed his best pair of jeans, one that had yet to get snagged on a branch in the woods or stained with engine grease. He'd also pressed his best plaid shirt and even bothered to tuck it in, cheap pleather belt and all. He felt a lot like he did every Easter—which was to say, fucking ridiculous, but he also looked at least somewhat like he was trying to make an effort. And he hoped that would count for something today.

“Oh,” Daryl said. “Well, it ain't for her, but, uh...man to man and all, do I look alright?”

“Yeah.” Glenn threw his crust in the trash, and Daryl was just the slightest bit in awe at how fast the rest of the slice had disappeared. “Who's it for?”

“Didn't make the best impression on my history professor the other day. Was kinda hopin this might help.”

“You got that Grimes guy, right?” Glenn asked, pulling out a Mountain Dew to wash down his mid-morning snack.

“Mhm.”

“Good luck. Almost signed up for history this semester, and then I saw what everyone was saying about him." Glenn shook his head. "Adviser told me there's a different professor in the spring.” 

“Yeah, well, didn't exactly get the memo on all these reviews before I signed up for stuff.”

“Not too late to drop, dude.” Glenn guzzled down more soda, the plastic bottle crackling as it tried to fill in the empty space. 

“My dad would tear me a new one,” Daryl said. He glanced at the clock on the microwave perched atop their mini fridge. “Better get goin.”

“Tell Maggie, uh... Tell her I said hey,” Glenn said. “But don't make me sound desperate or anything.” 

“Don't think you really need my help with that,” Daryl teased, shutting the door behind him before Glenn could respond.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michonne doesn't really have a canon last name (yet?), so I made it Adams. It's a little homage to her katana skills seeing as the first Westerner to become a samurai held that surname.


	3. The Phoenicians

Daryl walked into the classroom twenty minutes early. Steeling his nerves, he took a seat all the way up at the front, sliding into a desk right smack in the middle of the first row. He tried not to think about how only about five feet separated him from where the professor would be standing in less than a few minutes. Mostly because that thought made him feel ever-so-slightly like he might throw up all over his desk.

Tugging at the collar of his shirt, which seemed a little too tight now on his throat, he pulled out his notebook and a battered copy of the history textbook that he'd lucked upon in the library. It was one edition behind, but it would get him through today. His dad would be driving up this afternoon before starting his graveyard shift to hand over money for his books, and then he wouldn't have a problem with that anymore.

“Wow, Daryl,” Maggie said, arriving a few minutes after him and taking the desk to the right of him without a word about the location. “Don't you clean up nice.”

“Thought it might help if I looked like I cared today,” he said.

“And it doesn't have anything to do with wantin him to notice how gorgeous you are?” Maggie asked, pulling her supplies out of a canvas tote bag emblazoned with a Greene Family Farms logo.

“Pfft.” Daryl looked down at his desk, thumbing the worn edge of the textbook. “Actually have to be gorgeous for that to work.”

“Even better,” she said. “A gorgeous guy who doesn't know he is. The best kind.”

“Stop.” Daryl chewed on the skin around his thumbnail. “Glenn says 'hi' by the way,” he added, desperate to change the subject.

“Glenn?” Maggie's brows knitted together for a second, and then un-knitted as her brain placed the name. “Oh. Gloommate.”

“Yeah,” Daryl said. “Him.”

“He that big of a dork all the time?” she asked.

Daryl felt a little bit of an urge to defend him for some reason, but shit the boy spent all of his time outside of class and work glued to his computer, pressing buttons faster than Daryl had ever seen, Mountain Dew on one side and a slice of free pizza on the other.

“Yeah,” Daryl said, “But in a good way?”

Maggie smiled.

“Never said dork was a bad thing, Daryl,” she said. “Rather he was a dork than some frat boy a-hole anyway if you're gonna have to put up with him all year.”

Daryl grunted the affirmative to that.

“Your dream guy is here,” she said, eyes popping up toward the classroom door, and Daryl felt his blood turn to ice as he slowly shifted in his seat, turning back toward the dry erase board.

“Good morning,” Professor Grimes said, setting his leather saddle bag down on the floor next to the podium. He was wearing a pale slate tweed jacket today with honey brown elbow patches, and from his new position at the front of the room, Daryl could see exactly how the color complemented some of the shades of blue in his eyes. Those blue eyes. The same ones that had looked down at him in the dream last night and asked him if that was what he wanted as he undid his slacks.

Fuck, why the hell had he moved this close? He could have just gotten somewhere in the middle. Somewhere where he could have stared at the man with at least some semblance of anonymity.

The professor looked up at them, eyes surveying the room, lingering long enough on Daryl that he knew the man recognized him as the fucking dumbass from the other day.

He sat up a little straighter and hoped his cheeks weren't as red as they felt.

“Today, we're going to discuss ancient civilizations.” The professor walked as he spoke, words like “Egypt” and “Mesopotamia” sounding too damn decadent to be allowed when he said them in that smooth southern drawl. He stopped beside Daryl's desk, his hip practically pressed against the front left corner, and Daryl, who had been looking down at his notebook practically writing down the man's every word, couldn't keep his eyes from darting over toward the front of the professor's slacks. God, if he wanted to, he could just reach over and see what was under there. Well, if he wanted a restraining order and an expulsion, he could.

“Can anyone tell me about the Phoenicians?” the professor asked, walking back up the podium at the front of the room, the same one Daryl had been pressed against in his dream last night. “2 points added to your test on Monday.”

Daryl had read the chapter three times and taken so many notes that he'd practically re-copied the whole thing by the time he was done.

He saw the hands of some of the people around him, including Maggie's, shoot up. Timidly, he raised his, just barely above his shoulder, his whole arm shaking.

The professor's eyes moved around the room before ultimately settling right on his.

Shit. Daryl knew the answer, but he hadn't really expected...

“Mr. Dixon, if you please...”

Daryl looked down at the carpet before that gaze could give him a damn heart attack.

“The Ph-” God his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth. He tried to wet it, because he knew if he didn't keep talking, his second chance to make a good impression was gone and the professor would spend the entire semester thinking he was a good-for-nothing idiot. “The Phoenicians were an ancient civilization. They, uh, had city-states. Were sailors mostly.”

“Where?” Professor Grimes asked, his tone a little softer than it had been with Daryl so far.

“Mediterranean.”

“When?”

“3200 B.C.E until about 330something, depending on which era you're talking about.” Daryl felt less nervous now. He'd known _something_. That had to count a little right.

“And why might they be important to us, Mr. Dixon?”

“Alphabet. The, uh, start of a written language.”

The professor nodded, the fluorescent lights catching the sheen of his waves just a little as he did.

“Two extra points on your test Monday,” he said, making a little note on his class roster, and then he went on with his lecture. Daryl exhaled like he was letting out a breath after resurfacing from a long stint underwater, his chest heaving just a little. He had survived.

He looked over at Maggie who gave him a discreet little thumbs up and then settled into his seat a little more, taking notes while Professor Grimes drawled on, pacing around the front of the classroom and making marks on the board of important names and dates.

* * *

Rick paced his office after class, pretty certain that he was wearing a trail into the carpet as he walked back and forth from wall to wall over and over again.

“Will you be still, man?” Shane asked, sitting there with his styrofoam container from the dining hall open his lap. He bit off part of a chicken finger and tossed it back down. “Rick, I'm serious. You're driving me fucking nuts.”

“Tell me not to make any bad decisions this semester, Shane,” Rick said, his own food steadily going cold on his desk.

“Well, where's the damn fun in that?” Shane took a sip of his Gatorade, a smile playing on his lips. “The hell's up with you anyway?”

“Jesus, Shane, you should see this boy. No, this  _man_ ,” Rick said, correcting himself, because boys did not fucking look like that. Jesus Christ, no they did not.

“What man?” Shane asked. “You been hanging out at that gay bar again? Bounce, right?”

The question broke the seal on Rick's words, and that was all it took for them to start pouring out of his mouth like a deluge, flooding around his best friend who was the only person he trusted enough to tell them to at all.

* * *

“You're wrong,” Daryl said, shaking his head at Maggie over the table in the dining hall. “No way.”

“Couldn't keep his eyes off you.”

“Stop,” Daryl said. He wanted to hope, he really really did, but he knew better. And if he let himself hope, if he let himself start thinking that maybe, just maybe... well, it was going to crush him when the universe came crashing back down around him to remind him that people like  _that_ weren't meant for people like Daryl Dixon.

“If he'd looked at me like that, I'd be over at the university chapel right now praying for forgiveness for my thoughts.”

“Maggie...”

“Hey, guys.”

Daryl looked up, never so damn grateful to hear Glenn's voice in the short time that they had known each other. If Glenn was there, Maggie would shut up about Professor Grimes, and he could eat his damn corn dog in peace.

“Hey Gloommate,” Maggie said, smirking a little. Daryl could see Glenn's cheeks turning red out of the corner of his eye. And damn did he know the feeling now more than ever. He gently kicked one of his boots at Maggie's leg and gave her an insincere glare.

“Yeah, hey,” he said, smiling in a way that looked more like a grimace.

“Wanna join us?” she asked, giving Daryl a look that said,  _Is that better?_

He tilted his head just barely into a nod.  _Yes, it is._

“So, any plans for tonight?” he asked, setting his tray down and starting on his spaghetti, washing it down with more Mountain Dew. Damn, that boy had a problem.

“Me or Maggie?”

“Uh, either one.”

“Dad's dropping off my book money. Then, I'm probably going over to the garage to start on my class hours.” Daryl ignored Maggie, who he could tell was trying to get his attention through facial expressions alone. She wanted him to say they had plans together, which could mean only one thing—she didn't have any at all.

Let's see how she likes feeling so damn awkward for once.

Glenn looked up at her, his hand still on the fork currently tangled in his spaghetti.

“I was going to, um,...”

“She's free,” Daryl said, not giving her time to come up with some excuse. She kicked him hard under the table.

“Well, I've got DDR,” Glenn suggested quickly. “Or, um, we could go catch a movie. My treat.”

“DD-what?” Maggie's brow furrowed in confusion.

“Dance Dance Revolution. It's a video game. There are arrows and they.. You dance.” Glenn had dropped his fork and Daryl could see him trying to subtly wipe the sweat off his palms on his pants under the table.

“The Regal Theater is doing a sing-along of Frozen,” she said, after spending a long time weighing her options. Daryl could tell full well that she thought that what she said might turn Glenn off the idea. As if. She could've suggested that they both rub themselves down with honey and roll around in fire ants, and the boy would've agreed. 

Daryl looked at her, unable to keep himself from smiling in amusement. She caught his eye and he shook his head, just barely.  _Not gonna work._

“Sing-along of Frozen, huh?” Glenn asked, and then quietly, so only Daryl and Maggie could hear, he sang “Let Us Go” twice to the tune of the movie's most famous song.

Daryl had to bury his face in his elbow to keep from laughing out loud, and Maggie gave him another kick for good measure. Damn, that one was definitely gonna bruise.

“I'll be outside your dorm at six,” she said, and then picking up her tray, she left, shooting a look back at Daryl that he could only interpret as a firm “fuck you” even if he had yet to hear her swear at all.

“Holy crap,” Glenn said, watching her go before turning back to Daryl. “Dude, I'll give you five bucks to iron my clothes for me.”

Daryl considered that for a second. If Glenn was going to even attempt to get Maggie to come around, he was going to need all the help he could get. And hey, he had never been one to turn down five bucks.

“Done.” He stole a piece of Glenn's garlic bread and ruffled his mop of black hair before heading toward his afternoon class, unable to keep himself from smiling at just how well the day had gone so far.

 


	4. Getting Involved

Daryl's father looked nothing like him save one feature. Whenever someone wondered, just a little, if maybe Daryl's mother (God rest her soul) had run off with some guy she met tending bar down at the local VFW, they would look at Will Dixon's piercing blue eyes and know that, no, that wasn't the case at all.

Daryl had just inherited more of her than him. 

His father was a tall, imposing man who looked about ten years older than he really was thanks to a diet of cigarettes and two square six packs a day. His face was leathery and wrinkled from years spent hunting and earning his keep sweating out in the sun, and his hair was a deeper, darker brown than his son's, though it was becoming more and more streaked with gray these days.

Daryl found him sitting on the bench outside of Monroe Hall as he walked back from his afternoon class.

“Well, son, don't you look sharp,” he said, bending down to put his cigarette out on the concrete before standing up. “Your Aunt Kathy will be pleased to know you're using that iron.”

“Just trying to make good first impressions, you know,” Daryl said. They had been the same height for years now, but he always felt so small in front of his dad, like no matter what he did and how hard he tried, he would never measure up to Will Dixon's expectations for him. “Do you want to come up and see the place?”

“Ain't got time,” Will said, and Daryl felt relief wash over him. His father pulled out a worn, leather wallet, a gift he'd gotten from the plant he worked at for staying there over twenty-five years now. He pulled out three hundred dollars and handed it over to his son. Daryl grabbed it, but his dad wouldn't let go of the bills. He grabbed Daryl's wrist with his other hand, gripping it just a little too tight. “Now, before I give you this...”

“Yeah?” Daryl said, mouth dry. His father hadn't touched him in years, not since he was a freshman in high school. And he had only ever touched him the one time, beating him so hard he could hardly walk for failing a semester of algebra by two whole points. But Daryl had never forgotten what he was capable of, never stopped waiting for the next time to come. Because wasn't that how those things always worked? In a pattern? 

“You use the change for stuff you need. Pens or laundry or something. Don't go wastin it on bullshit.”

Daryl nodded, and his dad let go, parting with the crisp one hundred dollar bills that it looked like he had gotten from the bank right before he drove over.

“I'll come visit you when the busy season ends,” his dad said, and then he strolled off toward the guest parking lot, turning back around before he was out of earshot. "Make me proud, boy." When he was gone, Daryl exhaled heavily and clenched the money in his fist before heading upstairs.

* * *

“Hand me that wrench, son.” Daryl stood there in the garage wearing a pair of mechanic's coveralls he'd pulled on over his street clothes. They belonged to the automotive department, and were loose and worn from being washed about a million times, but Daryl felt a lot more comfortable like this than he had all day.

He picked up a wrench and placed in the hand of the gray-haired man currently half-underneath a brand spankin new Chevy Equinox.

“You're new this semester,” the man said, and Daryl could hear him working on something underneath the car.

“Yeah. Freshman.”

“What's your name?”

“Daryl Dixon.”

“I'm Professor Horvath, but you can call me Dale.”

“Dale,” Daryl said, testing it out. It felt weird to call one of his teachers by their first name, even if they were both adults technically speaking.

“Well, it's that, or I get a slew of students every semester calling me Professor Whorebath behind my back.”

Daryl coughed to keep from laughing.

“Don't think I can't feel you smiling up there, Daryl.” Dale rolled out from beneath the SUV and Daryl tried, in vain, to make his features smooth.

“What, uh, what do you teach?”

“Collision and Engine Repair.”

Well that made sense seeing as he was currently doing at least one of those things.

“Lot of new cars here,” Daryl said, looking around. Back at Joe's Autobody, it had been used to old patchwork rustbuckets and used Grand Ams. Man, what was it about old Grand Ams that there were so damn many of them? 

“University staff gets a steep discount bringing theirs in,” Dale said. “This one here belongs to a Miss Andrea Harrison. Professor over in the law school.”

“What's wrong with her?” Daryl asked. Hell, the vehicle couldn't be more than six months old.

Dale started to answer, but he stopped, getting up off the creeper and gesturing toward it like he wanted Daryl to lay down.

“Well, son, why don't you have a look and tell me?”

Blue eyes lighting up, Daryl laid himself down and slid under the car.

* * *

The dorm room was dark when he got back from the garage with nothing to show for it but a smudge of engine grease on his cheek. He thought Glenn was still out with Maggie until he heard the music, muffled and tinny like it was leaking from a pair of headphones. 

Since when did Glenn listen to Coldplay? Then again, he couldn't really recall having heard him listen to anything at all since they'd moved in together. He was always too busy blowing up aliens on his computer.

“Uh, Glenn?” Daryl flipped the light on and looked at his roommate, sitting there on his bed, still wearing the clothes Daryl had ironed for him earlier. They were now wrinkled more heavily than they were even before Daryl had pressed them, and Glenn had his knees drawn to up his chest and his iPod sitting beside him blaring “Fix You” into his ears.

Well, this wasn't good.

“Glenn?” Daryl said again. His roommate grabbed the cord to his headphones and yanked them out of his ears. Daryl didn't know what the hell else to ask, so he settled for, “Uh, how'd it go?”

“It didn't.”

“What?”

“She didn't show.”

Damn't, Mags.

Daryl went over to his desk and rummaged around for his little prepaid phone. He hadn't taken it with him because they weren't allowed in the garage. Some rules were meant to be broken, and some could accidentally cause a spark under the right circumstances and light your ass on fire. This was one of the latter, so he'd left it back in his dorm. 

“Maybe she had a good reason.” Please let her have had a good reason.

Daryl opened it, and sure enough he had a text message waiting.

_I'm sorry, Daryl. I can't._

What the fuck kind of reason was that?

He looked back over at Glenn, now staring at him expectantly, so sad and pitiful-looking that he couldn't fucking stand it.

“She said she's sorry,” Daryl said, and looking down at his phone to try to cement the lie. “Had a family emergency.”

“Oh.”

“So quit your mopin,” Daryl said. "Wasn't you, brother." 

“Tell her...Tell her I hope everything's okay.”

Daryl sighed and typed back.

_Wtf u mean u cant? covered for ur ass. u owe me._

He was already half-changed into a pair of cheap plaid pajamas when he got her answer.

_He okay?_

Of course, he's not okay. You stood him up.

_Is now._

Daryl laid down, setting his phone beside him next to his alarm clock, the latter of which he was more than happy to turn off now that the weekend was here.

_Good. Thank you._

He didn't bother answering that. Instead he picked up the library copy of the History textbook and read the next chapter over and over until he fell asleep.

* * *

He woke up on Saturday morning to the sound of his phone blaring out “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.”

“Who the fuck...?”

Cranky at being woken up on a weekend, he rolled over and grabbed it, flipping it open without even checking the caller ID.

“What?” he said, good and thoroughly annoyed.

“Get up.” Maggie. 

“Go screw yourself,” Daryl said, still cranky at her for standing Glenn up, and now for waking him on a damn Saturday morning. 

“Charming,” she said. “Get up anyway.”

“Can I get up later? Like maybe in another hour or two?”

“I know you're pissed at me for last night, but I can explain if you get your gorgeous butt up and come meet me outside.”

Daryl groaned.

“Can't you explain it later? Like maybe in an-”

“Daryl.”

“Fine.”

“If and when he asks, we're studying for our test,” Maggie said.

“Are we?” Daryl asked.

“Are we what?”

“Studying for our test.”

“Later.”

Daryl hung up without saying good-bye. Lazily, he pulled on a pair of jeans that were more hole than denim, along with a sleeveless tan shirt. He looked in the sliding glass mirror on his closet door and couldn't decide if he looked thoroughly white trash or very grunge. Not that it mattered seeing as it was a Saturday and Professor Grimes was probably in his own bed sleeping away the morning like Daryl should be right now.

He didn't have to tell Glenn where he was going because he was still fast asleep too. Lucky bastard.  

He found Maggie standing outside. She smiled at him when he walked out.

“Well, that's a change from yesterday,” she said, looking him up and down.  

Daryl shrugged.

“The hell you want with me at ten in the morning on a Saturday?”

“Well-”

“Wait, no,” Daryl said. “Before you answer that, what the hell happened last night?”

“I'm so sorry,” Maggie said. “I know it was an awful thing to do.”

“Downright shitty thing to do.”

“It's just...” She sighed and started walking slowly toward wherever it was they were going. “I had a high school sweetheart. Philip. And the two of us, we were together all four years. Every dance and homecoming and everything, me and him, and I really thought he was going to be the one. I had all these plans... thought that we'd get married and get a little farmhouse and fill it with kids just like my mom and dad had done, and...”

Shit. Daryl had been so damn focused on being a good wing man that he hadn't even considered that Maggie might not be available in one way or another.

“He dumped you before school started,” Daryl said, so she wouldn't have to. Maggie nodded.

“Right after we...”

Daryl turned to her, squinting a little as he tried to figure out the rest of that sentence. But he couldn't, though he wished he could, because the pain in Maggie's eyes was even worse now, and he had a feeling she didn't want to say this either.

“I'm sorry. I...” Daryl started, leaving off the rest. _I'm sorry. I don't know what you're trying to say. But I wish I did._

“Right after we had sex,” she said.

“He dumped you in bed?” And she looked down at the sidewalk, covering her face with her hands. No, that wasn't what she meant at all.  
  
Oh. OH. _Oh_. Daryl had never been much for physical affection, but he wanted to hug her.

“Holy shit, what a fuckin asshole.”

“I wouldn't have given it to him if I'd known he..”Maggie wiped one of her eyes and shook her head like she refused to cry about it anymore. “He kept saying if we were gonna get married, we should at least make sure we fit. Can't believe I fell for that crap.”

“Hey now, ain't no shame in sex,” Daryl said. “He's the one who was a ragin dickbag about it, to just throw away four years like that.”

Maggie smiled at him, and reached over, hugging him tight to her smaller frame. Awkwardly, Daryl returned the embrace, hands resting just barely against her back.

“Sorry I tried to push you on Glenn,” Daryl said when she pulled away and started back down the sidewalk. Really it had been a shitty thing to do now that he thought about it. Hell, he hadn't even asked her if she was single. He'd just been so eager to help, because he'd never really had anyone to help before except his idiot brother. Note to self, Daryl: Make sure people actually want help before you go interferin.  

“It's okay,” Maggie said. “Seems like a good enough guy. I'm just not ready, and really it wouldn't be fair to him.”

“I'll figure out a way to tell him without telling him,” Daryl said. And he would. He'd sit down and explain that Maggie wasn't ready for a relationship, but that it had absolutely nothing to do with him, that she's even said he seemed like a good dude. Soften the blow, offer to play Mario Kart with him until it stung a little less. 

“Thanks,” she said. “I felt awful. I really did, but...”

“It's okay,” Daryl said. “I got your back.”

Maggie smiled and turned, heading up the steps to the student center.

“What the hell are we doing anyway?” Daryl asked.

“Student org fair,” she said. “You need to get involved, Daryl.”

Daryl couldn't help the look of disgust that unrolled itself across his face, souring every feature.

“I don't wanna be _involved_.”

“Sure you do,” she said, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him inside like a parent wrangling a reluctant toddler.

The entire open space of the first floor of the student center had been taken over by tables since he'd last seen it yesterday on his way from the dining hall on the second floor.

Some of the nearby tables included The Soaring Eagle (their official school newspaper), and some literature group with a laminated poster of Shakespeare taped to the front of their table.

“There,” Daryl said, pointing. “I wanna go there.”

“Daryl, that's a sorority.”

“A sorority with free coffee and donuts,” he said.

Maggie rolled her eyes and followed him over.

“Hi!” The pep in the girl's voice almost sent Daryl running, but damn did that chocolate glaze look good.

“Hi,” Maggie said politely. 

“Are you thinking about pledging?” she asked.

“No,” Maggie said, “But I think he is.”

Daryl elbowed her without any real force behind it.

“I'm only supposed to give donuts to people interested in pledging,” the girl said. Well, shit. Daryl would've ordinarily lied and said he was, but given the penis and all, he had a feeling that wouldn't really fly.

“Aw, c'mon,” Daryl said, pouting at the girl in front of him. “I wanted to sleep in, but nooo because Maggie Greene doesn't believe in sleep. And now I can't even have a donut?”

The sorority girl smiled and rolled her eyes. Sighing and pulling out a little wax paper sheet, she grabbed a chocolate-coated donut and put it in Daryl's hand before pouring him a little styrofoam cup of steaming hot coffee.

“Sugar?” she asked.

“Nah,” he said, mouth already half-full of donut. He took the black coffee and washed the sugary taste down with glorious, bitter caffeine. “Thanks,” he said, starting to turn away.

“Hey, wait,” the girl said, running into the booth like she'd forgotten it was there as she tried to step forward to stop him. “We're, uh, having a joint party with the boys from Sig Tau on Friday. You should come.”

“Maybe,” Daryl said, juggling his breakfast to take the flyer she was holding out to him between two fingers. “See ya.”

“Yeah, see ya.”

He walked away with Maggie beside him, shaking her head in disbelief.

“You have no clue, do you?” she said. “Not a single one.”

“Clue about what?” Daryl asked, washing down his last bite of donut with the last swig of coffee from the small cup. 

“A clue about why she let you have a donut. Why she fell all over herself to invite you to a party.”

“Just being friendly, I imagine.”

“Unbelievable,” Maggie said.

Daryl threw his trash away and surveyed the booths. Now that he had a little sugar and caffeine in his system, he was starting to get the appeal of this org fair business: Free stuff.

He and Maggie made their way through the booths, collecting pens and notepads and fun-sized bags of M&Ms. The student government association even managed free drawstring backpacks, which was good because Daryl's hands were getting a little full and only one of his pockets was without holes and fully functional. Maggie signed up for a book club, putting a free bookmark in each of their bags when she did, and then they kept on with their journey toward more free crap.

“Hey Daryl,” Maggie said quietly, pointing at a booth ahead.

The organization had barely bothered decorating. Two students sat there quietly in matching tee shirts stained with grease, nothing but a few pieces of paper on their table and a hastily made banner that said “Automotive Club.”

Daryl's eyes lit up, and he made a beeline right for it.

“Uh, hi.”

A guy behind the booth sat up a little straighter, probably recognizing one of his own in the oil stains painted down the legs of Daryl's jeans.

“I'm Aaron,” he said, holding out his hand. “Club president.”

Daryl nodded.

“And this is Sasha. VP.”

She nodded back.

“Do I even need to ask if you want to join?” Aaron said, looking over the table and surveying Daryl's pants, giving him a warm smile.

“Just show me where to sign.”

“No need to sign anything,” Aaron said. “Just be in the garage on Thursday nights at six.”

“Done,” Daryl said, and he took a flyer, folding it up and shoving it into the little drawstring bag.

“Thought you didn't want to be involved,” Maggie teased, and Daryl shoved her gently.

“Didn't know there was stuff I'd actually be int-” Daryl stopped mid-sentence, realizing the brown-haired farm girl was no longer walking beside him. He looked back, searching for her, and found her standing at a small booth decorated with a couple of bundles of simple colorful balloons. On the front, they had taped a professional purple banner upon which were printed in rainbow letters the words, “Alexandria University GSA.”

Maggie looked up, glancing back and him and smiling. Daryl approached cautiously, picking up the pace a little when he saw cupcakes.

“Hi.” A boy smiled at him from behind the table, and he looked like the kind of guy who was always smiling even when he wasn't trying to recruit people to whatever the Alexandria University GSA was.

“Daryl, this is Eric,” Maggie said.

“Hi,” Daryl said back, eyeing the multi-colored icing and trying to decide, rather irrationally as they were probably all the same, which color would taste better.

“Feel free to take a cupcake,” Eric said, following his line of sight. Daryl picked up a blue one and bit into it. “We've got condoms and dental dams too if you want to take some. Safe sex and all that.” Daryl choked on the cake, because those had not been words he'd expected to hear. 

“Sorry,” he said, covering his mouth so he wouldn't send crumbs flying everywhere. “What, uh, what is this?” He looked at the banner again.

“The gay/straight alliance,” Eric said. “But, I've been rallying to try to change the name. It's not really inclusive for everyone, you know?”

“Uh huh.” Daryl rubbed a little frosting off his lip before adding rather hastily, “Well, uh, nice meeting you. Thanks for the cupcake.” He turned and started to move away before someone saw him, though he wasn't exactly sure who that someone was and why he was worried when he only really knew two people on campus at all, one of whom already knew he was gay. 

“Daryl Dixon, you get your ass back here.”

Daryl froze, mostly because he had never heard Maggie use anything close to a swear before. Hell, did "ass" even really count as a swear? 

“What do you want now?” he asked, walking back up to the table, looking around to make sure Glenn hadn't woken up and come over or something. 

“I think we should join,” she said. “Don't you?”

“No.”

Maggie, what the hell are you trying to pull?

“Hey, it's okay, it's not for everyone,” Eric said. “I know it makes some people uncomfortable.”

“It ain't that,” Daryl said, turning to glare at Maggie.

“Well, I would like to join,” she said. “As an ally. Do I have to specify?”

Eric smiled and slid the clipboard toward her.

“No, you don't. We wouldn't try to force someone to come out if they're not ready, even in a safe space like ours.”

Maggie turned back to Daryl, raising her eyebrows, and he knew exactly what she was trying to say. _See. They don't even have to know you're gay._

“I'll come once with Maggie and see how I feel about it before I put my name on anything.”

“Sure,” Eric said. He picked up a little trash bin behind the table and held it up, looking at the empty cupcake wrapper in Daryl's hand. Daryl tossed it in. “Can have another if you want. I don't really want to have to cart any back to my dorm.”

Daryl took another cupcake like a wild animal tentatively taking a scrap of food offered to it by human hands, snatching it and then taking a step back, like standing too close might somehow permanently mark his forehead with the words "hella gay" for the whole world to see. 

He forced himself to half-smile at Eric, hoping that he wouldn't think he was afraid of him, that it wasn't like that, and then he cleared his throat and turned away, walking off toward some frat table with a spin-to-win wheel just to get away.

“Daryl,” Maggie said, catching up.

“Sorry, but you know I don't exactly want people t-”

“Daryl, shut up and look.” She shoved the flyer for the GSA under his nose. It advertised their times and the mission of their organization, as well as some upcoming events.

“What am I looking at?”

Aggressively, she poked at the bottom of the paper.

 _President: Eric Reese_  
_Vice President: Tara Chambler_  
_Secretary: Francine Smith  
_ _Faculty Adviser: Rick Grimes_

The whole entire universe seemed to tilt sideways, and before Daryl knew it he had turned around and was marching right back up the table where Eric still stood, trying to persuade some guy in a football jersey to take a cupcake.

“Don't want your gay-ass cupcakes, man.”

“Good, asshole. More for me.” Daryl stepped in front of the jock, and whole body taut as a bowstring, slammed the flyer back down on the table.

“Are you okay?” Eric said, looking down at Daryl's hands, shaking where they sat on top of the crumpled paper.

It occurred to Daryl at this moment that he hadn't had any sort of a plan when he turned around. What was he going to do, say, _Hey, noticed Professor Grimes is your adviser. Is that just something he's doing out of the kindness of his heart or is he, you know...?_

And shit, what the fuck would it matter if he was? It's not like gay men went out with other gay men on principle. He still had to like Daryl, still had to _want_ him. Hell, the guy was his professor for fuck's sake. Could probably lose his job if he even looked at him like that.

“I...”

Maggie was there instantly, rescuing him like she knew exactly what was going on in his head.

“This thing tonight at Bounce,” she said, pointing at the place on the flyer where it said _New Beginnings Party_. “Where exactly is that?”

Eric smiled and flipped over the paper to draw them a map.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to any Clevelanders who might be reading this. You probably recognize the name Bounce, which was a place that was always so good to my own college's GSA whenever we needed somewhere to host an event.


	5. The Door Swings In

“Maggie,” Daryl hissed into his phone, hoping Glenn wouldn't hear him over the sound of the MMO game currently blasting in his ears. He had explained to him after getting back from buying his books (and breaking them in during an intense library study session) that Maggie wasn't ready to date right now. All things considered, Glenn had taken it pretty well, and he'd sat down at his desk shortly after with a Mountain Dew and booted up his cherry red laptop. Hadn't moved since and probably wouldn't until he had to get up for work.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

Daryl stood in front of the tiny closet on his side of the dorm, staring at every item of clothing he owned.

“What the hell do I wear?”

He had never been to a gay bar, but in the movies everyone always looked like an extra out of Saturday Night Fever.

Maggie laughed.

“I'm serious,” he said. “Don't got much.”

“Wear what you wore Friday. Seemed to work for him well enough.”

“But...” But he's already seen that, Maggie. How was he supposed to impress someone he could never have in an outfit he'd already _seen_.

“Borrow something of Glenn's?”

Daryl chewed on his lip and looked over at his roommate. His date outfit for Maggie had been pretty reasonable. He imagined that was still in his laundry hamper, but maybe he had something else.

“Guess I don't got much choice. What are you wearing?”

“A dress.”

Of course she was.

“Real descriptive there.”

“Hurry up and get ready. They don't start charging a cover until eight.”

Daryl glanced over at his alarm clock. Six-thirty, and it would take them at least twenty minutes to get there.

“Okay, okay.” He closed his flip phone and turned toward his roommate.

* * *

The seasons hadn't yet started changing, and the night was pleasantly balmy when he walked out the front door of Monroe Hall.

Maggie stood on the sidewalk in a pretty conservative polka-dotted black dress that flared out at the waist, and even Daryl had to notice that she looked pretty damn adorable.

He had on the same pants from yesterday, because really they were the only ones he had that weren't a complete damn mess, but he had borrowed a navy blue button-up from Glenn (who surprisingly didn't even question it), and now that he was outside and realized where they were going and who might be there and what people might think, he wanted to turn right back around and go crawl under his covers and hide.

“I don't know if I can do this, Maggie.”

“Yes you can.”

“This shirt's too tight. I should change.” It really was. It stretched across his upper back and shoulders, and he had just barely gotten the damn thing on his arms. It was going to be a chore later to get it off and back to Glenn without ruining it.

“Believe me, Daryl,” she said, “tight is working for you.”

She jerked her head and they headed off toward student parking, having decided earlier that they would take Maggie's car as she absolutely refused to ride on the back of his motorcycle.

* * *

Rick helped Eric and Tara set up snack tables, putting out cupcakes of every color, along with punch and some cheese and vegetables.

They had the front room of the bar claimed for the evening as most of the non-collegiate customers would want to hang out in the back where the dance floor and stage were.

Rick could feel the bartender's eyes on him as he arranged the cupcakes in the right order, spelling out Roy G. Biv in his mind. He didn't dare look over to where the guy was currently wiping the same spot on the bar over and over even though it had probably been clean for about five minutes at that point.

Rick's brain replayed a night of drunk, messy sex in a bathroom stall located not too far from where he was currently standing. He'd been just coherent enough to put on a condom, but not coherent enough to realize sloppy restroom sex was a bad idea altogether, and it wasn't a mistake he was eager to repeat.

Not that he'd ever really cared much for the bartender anyway. He'd been drunk and needy, and that combination had made him plain stupid. Did make a good story to tell Shane over Monday morning coffee though. 

“Digging the arrangement, Rick,” Tara said, snatching away one of the purple cupcakes. She offered him her fist, and he bumped it lightly with his own, knowing that she would leave hers hanging there until he did. For some reason, she had always treated him like an equal. Maybe it was because she hadn't been in one of his classes, or maybe it was just because she was Tara.

“Save some of those for when people get actually here, Chambler,” Eric said, nudging her arm mid-bite so frosting went all over her nose.

“Dick,” she said halfheartedly, already trying to lick it off with her tongue, and even Rick who would have much rather been at home curled up on his couch watching Netflix, had to smile at the way this group of students had slowly become a family. 

* * *

Daryl could hear the deep bass of music as they approached the front door of the club. This was his last chance to turn and run. If he started now and didn't stop, he could probably make it back to the university on foot before midnight.

“IDs.”

He presented his license and let them stamp his hand “Under 21" in dark red ink. 

Great. He couldn't even have a damn drink to get him through this. Then again, he had sort of sworn he would never drink anyway after growing up surrounded by a bunch of drunks like his dad and his uncle Jim who inevitably got banned from coming to Thanksgiving every other year for whatever stupid thing he did the one before. 

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he followed Maggie inside.

He had expected black lights and neon and maybe even glitter, but he hadn't expected a warmly lit area, reasonably quiet save the music bleeding through from some other part of the building. It was a lot calmer of an atmosphere than he had anticipated, and for some reason, that made his shoulders relax just a little.

Well, for a minute anyway until he looked around the room and found half the eyes in it firmly on him.

God, what were they all thinking? Probably wondering what trash like him was doing there, thinking that he had some nerve to show up in a nice place like this. Any place back home would have already told him Dixons weren't welcome there and shown him the door. 

“I wanna leave,” he hissed, and Maggie turned around, skirt twirling.

“Why?”

“Everyone's staring at me,” he said. “I don't belong here.” God why did he come? He was going to see the Professor again on Monday anyway. No need to torture himself like this just to get out of waiting a couple of days. God, how fucking needy was he anyway? 

“Oh, Daryl, you beautiful idiot.” She leaned over and popped a kiss right on his forehead, squeezing his face between her hands.

“The hell's that supposed to mean?” he asked, pulling free from her.

“Because they aren't looking at you like you think they are.”

“Yeah they are. Hell, I can see 'em.” Even the bartender was staring at him, probably thinking about whether or not he should call security to throw his white trash ass back out onto the street. 

“Oh, they're looking at you, but it's not because they think you don't belong here.”

Daryl squinted at her and turned his face toward the nearest person with their gaze on him. The guy smiled and licked his lips just barely, an unconscious reaction.

Jesus Christ.

Chest tightening in panic, Daryl made a beeline for the bathroom and pushed his way inside quickly, too quickly. The door collided with something solid on the other side, and he heard a loud swear and the sound of something crashing.

Shit. 

“Jesus, I...”

Daryl rounded the door, and all the air left his chest immediately, his sapphire eyes going as wide as a barn door. Fuck no. Oh fuck. No no no. Not this. Why the fuck did it have to be this?

“Don't worry a-” Piercing Blue eyes met his, and Daryl felt the goosebumps creep their way from the back of his neck down his arms.  
  
Please God, old buddy, if you're up there listening, just let me fucking die right now. 

* * *

Rick had spent a good bit of time after they finished setting up cultivating a decent buzz to get him through the evening, walking that thin line between comfortably warm and impaired. Unfortunately, cultivating a good buzz came with side effects, and so he'd been spending a fair amount of time in the bathroom too. Of course, he hadn't realized that spending time in the bathroom came with side effects of its own. 

As he headed out after his third trip, the door came barreling in on him. Now, there had been plenty of times in his years going to Bounce that he'd been nudged by it a little, but this was the first time he'd ever been knocked flat on his ass, elbow slamming in to the hard metal trash can left there to collect paper towels.

“Jesus I...”

Oh well, shit happens. He was just buzzed enough to not give a shit.

“Don't worry a-” Rick looked up, and suddenly he was stone cold sober. This was a dream, right? He'd really hit his head on that trash can and was probably laying there on the filthy floor of the bathroom dreaming this whole thing. “Mr. Dixon?”

The younger man was staring at him like a deer in headlights, blue eyes wide open and petrified, body frozen in place. Nope. Not a dream. If it was a dream, they'd already be naked, and Rick would be pounding the other man relentlessly into the sink. 

Rick slowly lifted himself up off the bathroom floor, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, but his boot slipped in a little water and he banged his knee on the tile, swearing again.

That seemed to rouse Mr. Dixon a little. Daryl. Rick knew his name, after all, hadn't been able to stop himself from staring at the class roster and memorizing it backwards and forwards. He'd decided that was harmless enough. Just a name, he'd told himself. It was just a name. 

“Shit, I mean, shoot. Fuck, I mean...Christ. Sorry." Daryl reached down to help him up off the ground. Rick tried not to notice how the younger man's arms bulged when he did it, tried not notice how damn firm the muscle was under that painfully tight-in-all-the-right-places navy blue shirt. God, did he really _really_ fucking try. “I didn't know there... I just had to...”

“Mhm,” Rick said, dusting himself off and washing his hands yet again. He knew what kind of shit he'd gotten up to in this bathroom before. There was no telling what kind of filth was on the floor.

“Are you, you know, okay?” Daryl asked, and Rick looked up at him in the mirror, seeing him behind him chewing on his lip and looking like he was about two seconds from losing his damn mind.

“I'll be fine,” Rick said. “Won't feel it really until the morning anyway.”

Daryl nodded, eyes looking anywhere but directly at his, and Rick refused to admit that it was killing him just a little to not have them on him. At least in class, the man looked at him.

“Might take those two extra points you earned away though,” Rick said, and then he chastised himself immediately. Grimes, that is damn fucking close to flirting. You've made enough mistakes in this godforsaken bathroom to last a lifetime.

“I'd deserve it,” Daryl said, and something in Rick's stomach churned a little at the tone. Surely he didn't really think that.

“Only joking, Daryl,” Rick said, ignoring the jolt of electricity that came with the way Daryl's eyes snapped to his upon hearing his first name. “You earned those points.”

The more devilish part of his brain made a suggestion about how Daryl could earn about fifty more points tonight, and Rick shook the thought away, combing through his waves with his fingers.

“Thank you, professor,” Daryl said, the words muffled as he chewed at his nails.

And outside of the sterile environment of the classroom, there in the semi-dark dingy club bathroom, the word “professor” sounded positively fucking sinful rolling off Daryl's tongue. Of course, it didn't help that gorgeous bastard practically had one of his fingers in his mouth. God, if that didn't rouse a quick fantasy or two. 

“I think I need another drink” Rick said, the words tumbling out before he even realized they had formed. It wasn't something he would ordinarily say to a student, but hell, it wasn't like he was teaching high school. At least he had enough sense left in him to stop the words, “ _How about you?_ ” before they got out.

No bad decisions so far, Rick. Hang in there.

“Don't reckon there's a bar in here, sir,” Daryl said, and he had a damn good point there.

“Be careful on your way out, Daryl,” Rick said, cursing himself while he talked but unable to stop at the same time, knowing his voice was taking on that deep timbre he reserved only for men he wanted to fuck. “The door swings in.”

* * *

Daryl's chest started heaving the second the door finished swinging shut.

Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. _Jesus. Christ._

“Daryl,” Maggie called through the door. “You alright?”

He turned on the tap and splashed cold water all over his face. Dear God, if Professor Grimes hadn't thought he was an idiot before, he sure as shit did now.

“Yeah, his name is Daryl, can you...Thanks.” 

He could hear Maggie talking outside, could hear the door swing open, but all he could think about was Professor Grimes looking up at him from the floor, and how no matter what he did in class this semester and how hard he worked, he would forever be the idiot kid who knocked him on his ass in the bathroom of a gay bar.

“So you're Daryl then?”

Daryl looked up in the mirror, water dripping off his face and into the sink. The president of the Automotive Club—Aaron, if he remembered right—stood there, smiling warmly at him. The hell was he doing here?

“Here,” he said, grabbing a paper towel and handing it to Daryl so he could dry his face.

“Thanks.” Daryl tried to calm his breathing down, closing his eyes and making each breath deep, filling up every part of his lungs and exhaling slowly.

“Good to know,” Aaron said, after Daryl had finished his little breathing exercise. “Your name, I mean. Realized after you walked away earlier that I never asked it.”

“Mhm. So, you're in the GSA thing too?” Daryl asked, wondering when it became a “too” considering he hadn't even met anyone besides Eric and the hot-as-fuck adviser who he had just assaulted with a goddamn door.

“Sort of a requirement when you're dating the president.” Aaron smiled. “You feeling alright? Your friend's worried about you.”

“Yeah,” Daryl said, nodding. “Just needed a minute. I'm not...really used to bein around this many people.”

Aaron nodded, and Daryl couldn't stop the swell of gratitude at just how little judgment there was in his soft features.

“Well, I'm sort of the unofficial first lady around here,” Aaron said. “You need anything, even if it's just to lose yourself in a conversation about engine parts for a minute, come find me.”

Daryl nodded, his body finally coming down from its little fit of panic.

“Thanks,” Daryl said, hoping Aaron could tell how much he meant it. “Better go before Maggie has a heart attack.”

“You know,” Aaron said, stopping him before he could pull the door open, “I wasn't too sure about this thing my freshman year either. Didn't know if I wanted to join the 'gay' club. But it was worth it, and then I met Eric and it was even more worth it.” Aaron's eyes lit up when he mentioned his boyfriend, corner of his mouth quirking up a little more as he spoke. “Stick around and get to know some of these people, Daryl, and I promise you'll like it. You'll never really feel like...” He looked down at the tile, scratching at the side of his nose before looking back up and continuing. “There won't be another place on campus where you'll feel more like you can just be yourself than you will with them. Not even the garage.”

Daryl took the words in, trying to imagine any place at all where he would feel like he could just _be_ , where he wouldn't feel like there were a million eyes on him casting judgment every time he so much as blinked.

He doubted it was true, doubted he'd ever have a place where he felt emotionally safe, but he'd already agreed to give the club a try anyway, and if there was any chance that what Aaron said was true, well, maybe he wouldn't mind that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are perfectly fine with me finishing this story in like a week, right? lol  
> /cantstopwontstop


	6. Panic

Rick limped into his office on Monday morning. His body had started hurting Sunday as soon as he woke up, and it hadn't stopped since. Damn did he feel a lot older than twenty-six today.

“You alright, old man?” Shane had followed him right over from the Starbucks in the student center, and he'd probably been biting his tongue the whole time, thinking Rick had some juicy story to go with his injuries. Well, he guessed he sort of did. 

“I'll live,” Rick said, using his coffee to wash down two Tylenol.

“You hook up with that bartender again?”

“God, no,” Rick said.

“You offer that kid you've got a hard-on for some extra credit?”

“Shane,” Rick said sternly, limping over to the door and making sure the coast was clear before shutting it. “Are you trying to get me fired?”

“Sorry,” Shane said. “Forgot.”

“How was your weekend?” Rick asked, because he couldn't bring himself to share his own yet. In addition to the constant pain he'd been in since yesterday, his mind hadn't calmed down for more than five minutes at a time. Hell, he'd barely even slept since Saturday. 

“Damn good,” Shane said. “Football team is looking good. Volleyball team nailed their first scrimmage. Hell, they might even give me a raise if things keep going this well.”

Yeah, like Rick cared about all the sports shit.

“Mhm.”

“Nailed that cute blonde law professor too.”

Rick looked up from his coffee at that.

“Who?”

“Andrea Harrison, J.D.” Shane mm'd a little. “Brand new car broke down on the way out of the parking lot Friday afternoon. Offered her a ride home after we turned it over to the Auto Department, and the next thing I know we're in her driveway and she's rubbing my dick through my gym pants.”

Rick rolled his eyes. How the hell did that asshole ever get women to sleep with him even if he did look like he'd been hand-sculpted by Michelangelo himself?

“Man, Rick, the ass on that woman. Plump and juicy like a damn Georgia peach.” The jock cupped the air with his hands to emphasize. 

“You're a pig, Shane.”

Shane laughed, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Yeah, I'm the pig. You're the one who wants to play student/teacher porno style.”

“Speaking of...” Rick said, because he knew if he didn't start talking, Shane would probably start waxing poetic on the law professor's breasts, and while Rick could at least appreciate a nice ass, he'd never been able to really appreciate tits other than the fact that they were fun and squishy, in that same way Silly Putty was fun and squishy. Well, that and they were kinda nice to lay on if you had a friend willing to let you.

“Wait, are you about to tell me them injuries have something to do with him?” Shane sat up a little straighter. “The hell did you do? Do I need to be lookin' for another university hiring both an AD and an assistant History professor?”

“Doubt any other university would take me if I went down that road, Shane.”

“So you didn't hurt your knee by being on it too long?”

“Jesus, Shane,” Rick said, throwing the nearest object on his desk at him, which just so happened to be a small paperback copy of a book about Colonial Virginia. It fluttered as it flew and Shane caught it, smirking. “Thing is, I was helping out with the GSA back-to-school party over at Bounce, didn't wanna be there so I started drinking just a little...”

“You sure you didn't fuck that bartender then?”

Rick threw another book.

“Would you like to tell the story, Shane?”

“Sure, man. Let's see... 'I didn't wanna be there so I started drinkin a little, and what do you know, but Mr. MakesMyCockAche Dixon from my history class has started bartending there on the weekends. What a small world w-'”

“Shane.”

“Well go on and tell me what really happened then.” Shane tossed his empty coffee cup into the trash can beside Rick's desk.

“Had to piss, because drinkin.”

“Right.”

“Leaving the bathroom when someone pushes the door open so hard, it knocks me on my ass hence the...” Rick motioned to his leg.

“And that asshole was Mr. MakesYourCockAche Dixon from your history class,” Shane teased.

But that time Rick didn't stop him. Because it was true, even if he wasn't a huge fan of the nickname Shane had given Daryl. Shane's eyebrow went up.

“Wait,” Shane said, “Was it really?”

“Standing there in a button-up navy blue shirt so tight on his arms and shoulders... Hell, Shane, I'm surprised he didn't need Crisco to get the damn thing on.”

“No, but back up just a second,” Shane said. “You were at the gay bar.”

“Mhm.”

“Helping out with the party for the gay/straight thingy...”

“Mhm.”

“And Mr-”

“If you say that damn nickname one more time, Walsh, I'm gonna throw something harder than a paperback.” Rick picked up a heavy blown glass paperweight for emphasis.

“Fine. And Mr. Dixon was there...”

“Mhm.”

“At the gay bar?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, shit, man,” Shane said. “At least you know he's gay.”

“It's a gay/ _straight_ alliance, Shane. I don't know shit.” And that was the thought that had been torturing Rick since he left the bathroom Saturday night. That Daryl _might_ just be gay, but he also might not be. God, he'd never wanted to know one single piece of information more in his life, and that included his lifetime historical obsession with what happened to the Roanoke colony.

“But there's about, what, an eighty/twenty chance, right?”

“Yeah, probably” Rick said. But then his mind went right back to the second point of obsession it had held onto tightly since Saturday. “But even if he is, Shane, then what?”

Hell, it's not like he could really strike up a relationship with a student. That would put everything he had worked so hard for at risk.

“Then you fuck him and never tell anyone about it.”

“You're a horrible influence.”

“Not really,” Shane said. “Already know you're gonna do what you want no matter what I tell you.”

Rick couldn't help but smile, because that was the damn truth.

“The responsible thing to do would be to let it go,” Rick said. “Can't go anywhere.”

“Yes,” Shane said, “I guess that would be the responsible, boring thing to do.”

Rick groaned and put his head down on his desk.

“Even if he's gay... Even if I decided it was worth the risk or thought he would probably stay quiet about it if we did... Even if all that shit fell into place...”

“Mhm..”

“Well, hell, he'd still have to want me, Shane.”

“That is true,” Shane said, agreeing in that infuriating, oddly smug way that only he could. Rick put his head down on his desk again.

“This is a fucking pointless conversation,” Rick said finally.

“Nah, man,” Shane said. “What's pointless is that you're still talking when you know you have that fucker for a class that started five minutes ago.”

Rick picked up his cell phone from where he'd set it on his desk, and sure enough, he was five minutes late. Ten by the time he hobbled over to the lecture all.

“Walsh, you asshole,” he said, but he didn't have time for more than that. Grabbing his jacket and his saddle bag, he took off as fast as he could stand to on his knee.

* * *

Daryl had tried to take a seat in the back. It was a test day anyway, so he figured it didn't much matter where he sat since all he'd be doing was bubbling shit in or writing essay questions or something.

But Maggie had insisted they sit up front, telling him that it probably wasn't as bad as he thought, that he couldn't run away from everything even if it was, that she would be right beside him the whole time. 

Daryl checked the clock again. Usually the professor came strolling in one or two minutes early, but according to the time, he was six minutes late.

Maybe the clock had gotten fast somehow since Friday. He worked his stupid piece of shit phone out of his pocket and checked the time (and that it was still on silent). No, that was right. Professor Grimes was late.

And those extra minutes of anticipation were killing Daryl. He just wanted to get it over with, both having to face the man and the stupid test.

He did feel a lot better about the latter thing though seeing as he'd forced Maggie to study with him a lot longer than necessary the day before, making his mind focus on that instead of dwelling on the professor's potentially favorable sexual orientation coupled with his disastrous encounter with him on Saturday night.

“God, where is he?” Daryl whispered. Nearby, he could already hear people discussing the protocol on how late a professor could be before they were all allowed to leave.

“I'm sure he'll be here,” Maggie said, and Daryl went back to waiting in silence, chewing deep dents into his mechanical pencil.

The class had just collectively decided on twenty minutes as the point they would call this particular class a bust when Professor Grimes hobbled through the door, shutting it behind him. A few people groaned.

“Sorry, I'm late,” he said, gesturing toward his injured leg. “Underestimated the time it would take me to get here this morning.”

His eyes darted over toward Daryl, and he looked down at his desk immediately, refusing to meet those piercing blue eyes, because fuck. The professor was injured and it was his fault and God he was such a fucking useless waste of space.

“Take a test a bubble sheet and pass it down,” Rick said, starting over near the wall. “Write the answers to your essay questions in the space provided. Use the back if you need it, and make sure your name is on both your answer sheet and your test.”

The stack of essays and answer sheets got to him quickly. Daryl tried to take one of each smoothly and pass them on to Maggie, but he could just feel the way the professor was looking at him. He chanced a glance up and sure enough, the older man was watching him. The stack of tests slipped out of Daryl's hands, scattering across the carpet.

“Fuck,” Daryl hissed under his breath. Someone behind him giggled, and he felt that familiar feeling creeping up inside of him, felt his lungs pumping a little faster than they should.

“It's okay, I got it,” Maggie said, but it was too late. Daryl looked around and found every single eye on him save the few who actually had a test to look at. Shit. Fuck shit. 

“Can I be excused for a minute, professor?”

“We're in the middle of a test, Mr. Dixon.”

“Please. I...”

His hands were shaking now, and the floor spun just a little where Maggie was currently on her knees gathering up blank tests.

Daryl couldn't breathe, couldn't see straight, and suddenly the test and permission didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was that he had to get the hell out of there.

He got up, leaving all of his stuff behind, and flung the door open, stepping out into the empty hall and sliding down the wall, chest heaving. He put his face in his hands, willing back the heat in his eyes that threatened to turn into something wet.

He would not fucking cry.

“Mr. Dixon...”

Daryl didn't even look up. He couldn't, and even the mere thought of having to made his stomach churn uncomfortably.   
  
Please just go away. God, please just leave me alone.

“Easy, hey...” He felt the professor's hands on his shoulders. “Look at me, Daryl.”

Daryl shook his head.

“Can't.” Daryl used his forearms to hide his face a little more. "Sorry. Just can't." 

“Okay, then how about you close your eyes for me if they aren't already.”

That, Daryl could do.

“Want you to breathe in real deep through your nose, then out real slow through your mouth.” The professor took a slow, even breath of his own to demonstrate.

Daryl copied the pace, and his hummingbird heart slowed just a little.

“There you go. Just keep breathing.” The professor gently rubbed his arms while he talked, voice low and gentle. “In and out, nice and slow.”

“I'm sorry I keep screwing things up," Daryl blurted out. 

“Shh.” The older man squeezed his arm. “You haven't screwed anything up, Daryl.”

Daryl looked up then, because he had to know if Professor Grimes really meant that one. The older man was looking at him softly, but he didn't seem to be lying.

“You sure?” Daryl asked, and the other man nodded.

“Positive. Do you think you can do your test now?”

“Yeah. Have to, don't I?” Daryl asked. College wasn't like high school. You couldn't just skip out and do whatever you missed when you showed back up.

“Not if you're not ready to go back in there.”

“My stuff's in there.”

“I'll get your stuff for you, Daryl,” he said, "if you need to go.”

“I can do it.” Daryl nodded. “Wanna get it over with anyway.”

“Alright, but I want you to come see me in my office this afternoon when you're free, okay?”

“Am I in trouble?”

The professor shook his head, giving one of his arms another reassuring rub.

“Not at all. Just wanna talk.” He stood back up, grimacing a little as he did. “C'mon. Let's get you back in there so you can ace my test.”

“Yeah,” Daryl said, because he couldn't think of anything else. Then as calmly as he could, trying to ignore the people who looked up from their exams as he re-entered the room with the professor behind him, Daryl took his seat and started working.

* * *

Rick closed the door to his office and soon as he got back inside. He knew Shane would be waiting for him at their usual meeting place. It was part of their daily routine to meet up and grab lunch on their faculty dining cards and then walk it back over here to eat together, but damn't Rick needed a fucking minute.

Which was incidentally exactly what he said in the text to his best friend—that he just needed a fucking minute. 

_Get Mr. Dixon to show you his Dix-on yet?_

Fucking Shane.

Rick sat down in his chair and laid his forehead down his desk, pounding it softly against the mahogany a couple of times for good measure.

His lust-fixation or whatever it had been before had been bad enough already. But seeing Daryl going to pieces in the hallway like that had knocked something inside of him askew, and damn if it wasn't a full-blown fucking crush now. Damn if Rick didn't have every damn desire to be the one there for Daryl when he fell apart like that. Damn damn damn.

Someone knocked softly on his office door, and his heart almost leaped out of his chest, but he could tell from the frame in the frosted glass that it was just Shane. He scooted his chair over and undid the latch.

“Went ahead and got you lunch,” Shane said, setting the containers on the desk and pulling his off the top before sitting down. “Figured it would probably be a pain in the ass for you to walk all the way over there and, damn, what the hell is wrong with _you_? Look like you've just seen a ghost fucking your mother.”

Rick rubbed the bridge of his nose, pulling his lunch over and praying there was something made of chocolate in there.

“He had a panic attack in my class, Shane.”

Shane made a little noise at that, probably not sure what to fucking say. Because what did you say to that really? It wasn't cute or sexy or romantic in itself. It was just that it had made Rick realize he wanted to do more than just screw Daryl Dixon.

“I had to calm him down, and...”

“Aw, hell, Rick,” Shane said, tossing his plastic fork back down into his lunch container. “Anybody ever tell you that you've got a kind of damsels in distress thing?”

“I don't, not really,” Rick said, taking a massive bite of brownie. “But Shane, I am completely fucked here.”

“Damn right, you're fucked,” Shane said. “Eating your dessert first and looking like a lost puppy dog. You really fucking stepped in it, didn't you, brother?”

“I don't know what to fucking do.”

“Find out if the fucker is actually gay for starters,” Shane said. “Might be a good point A.”

“And then what?” Rick asked, desperate for the world to make a little sense again.

“How the fuck should I know? You see me over here with a damn girlfriend?” Shane asked. “If you wanna lay him and leave him, then I can help you, but I got a feelin you ain't really in for that anymore.”

And fuck if he wasn't right too.

Another knock at the door, and Rick's heart did another leap. He and Shane both looked over at the door, and there was no mistaking the shoulders-to-waist ratio of the person on the other side. Rick shoved the rest of the brownie right into his mouth.

* * *

The man who answered the door was certainly not Professor Grimes, but under the right circumstances, Daryl probably could've had a few wet dreams about him too. He ignored the little twinge of jealousy at the thought that maybe his teacher _was_ gay and maybe _this_ was his boyfriend. God, with that to go home to every night, Daryl didn't stand a fucking chance.

“Sorry, is this a.. Should I...?”

“Holy hell,” Shane said, grabbing one of Daryl's biceps. The redneck flinched away immediately. “Sorry, sorry, I ain't tryin to be weird or nothin. Just we could really use those on the rowing team. Or the tennis team. Or the archery team. You ever pull a bow, son?”

“Shane...”

“Fine, fine, I'm going.” But before he did, he pulled out a business card baring the standard design for faculty and staff and pressed it into Daryl's hand. “Shane Walsh. Athletic Director. You think about what I said and gimme a call. Text even.”

With a little wave at Rick on the way out, he left, leaving Daryl to stare at the card in his hand, more than just a little confused about what the fuck had just happened.

“Don't mind Shane,” Professor Grimes said, gesturing to a chair in front of his desk and shutting the door. “Suffers from a rare disease. Overabundance of testosterone. Addles his brain a little.”

Daryl sat down in one of the two chairs across from the professor. He tucked the business card into his pocket, unsure of what else to do with it, and then he looked up, using every ounce of willpower he had to meet the older man's eyes.

“You wanted to talk to me,” Daryl said.

“I did.” He nodded, running his hand through is hair. “Daryl, have you ever talked to anyone about those panic attacks you have?”

Panic attacks. He didn't have panic attacks, did he? That was some shit crazy people had. And Daryl wasn't fucking crazy.  

“What?” Daryl asked.

“Today in my class, you had a panic attack. I'm asking if you've ever spoken to anyone about them.”

“Anyone like who?” Daryl asked. Great, now he had “batshit insane” to add to the list of negative shit the professor thought about him.

“Like a professional.”

“A professional what?”

“Psychologist. Psychiatrist. Licensed counselor.”

“I ain't nuts,” Daryl said. “Don't need no shrink.”

“Whoa, whoa, easy.” The other man put his hand up. “I never said you were. It's nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Being crazy aint nothin to be ashamed of?”

“You're not crazy, Daryl,” he said. “But it would probably be a lot easier for you if you saw someone. They'll help you learn to deal with them, might even give you something to take if they think you need it.”

“Is this all you wanted me for, sir?” Daryl asked, eager to get away. He didn't know what he had expected really coming over here, but it hadn't been this shit.

Professor Grimes was quiet for a moment.

“Wanted to ask you if you had a good time Saturday,” he said. “Hoping our little run-in didn't ruin your night.”

Truth was, Daryl had enjoyed himself. Eric had introduced him and Maggie around  to some of the others, and he'd found himself feeling right at home between Aaron and Tara, all three of them discussing motorcycles for about an hour before Maggie finally dragged him to the back room and forced him to dance with her, and even though he danced like someone's awkward dad chaperoning senior prom, he hadn't felt the least bit weird about it.

“Mhm.”

“A man of many words, Mr. Dixon.”  
  
"Yep." 

“Did you see any boys you might like?” Professor Grimes asked. 

Just you.

“Nope.”

“Girls?”

Daryl narrowed his eyes. What the hell did it matter to him if he'd seen anyone he might be into? Why the hell was he trying to pry into his life like he fucking belonged there? Like anyone like him ever could ever belong in Daryl's stupid life. Hell, he was lucky enough the people he had now wanted to stick around.   
  
Cranky and frustrated and a bunch of other things he couldn't put into words, Daryl answered, deciding right before the words left his mouth that it probably didn't matter much if the faculty adviser to the damn GSA knew about him.   
  
“Well, seein as I'm gay, sir, not really.”

“Sorry, I didn't want to assume.”

“Can I go now?” Daryl asked, glancing up at the clock behind the professor's desk. He needed to get over to the Health/Science Building for his afternoon class anyway.

“Sure, Daryl,” he said, “but think about what I said, about-”

But Daryl was out the door and a good four feet down the hall before the professor could even think about finishing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, the author's unfinished novel sat on her desk collecting dust.  
> "I'll edit you someday," she whispered softly, "someday after Rickyl finally does the bang."


	7. Warm

Rick was very torn between wanting to chase Daryl down and between wanting to jump up and down on his desk and scream. God, he finally knew how his younger cousin Macy had felt all those years ago when she'd roped him into driving her to that Justin Timberlake concert. He felt like any second now, he was going to burst open and splatter all over the damn walls.

His office door flew open without warning, and Shane slipped inside, shutting it quickly behind him like they were about to do something clandestine together. Hell, and maybe they were.

“Well?”

“He's gay,” Rick said, and it took all he had to say it calmly and evenly instead of yelling at the top of his lungs. 

“You're sure?”

“He said it himself.” Shit, he really did. Clearly and without any room for doubt. Man, that had actually happened, right? Rick wasn't in some hospital in some coma, was he? He checked the clock on his phone twice, just to make sure the numbers stayed the same, just to make sure he was really there.

“You just asked him? 

“Well I kind of led him there, trying to seem concerned about the well-being of the club and all,” Rick explained, basically repeating the entire conversation he and Daryl had regarding the party the other night.

“Nicely done, Captain Subtlety.” Shane sat down and lounged back, putting his feet up on Rick's desk.

“Hey, it worked.” Rick shrugged. Shane shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“Well, now you know he's your particular flavor of ice cream. What are you going to do?”

“I have no idea. Probably fall in love with him like an idiot.”

“Hmm. I kinda like it,” Shane said, smirking just a little. “Hey, is this his?” He held up a cheap red notebook. Rick hadn't even noticed it laying on his desk yet, too caught up in thoughts of _HE'S GAY. HE'S FUCKING GAY!_

There was no mistaking the name “Daryl Dixon” written right there on the cover in black ink. Rick snatched at it immediately, yanking it from Shane's hand like lightning, ignoring the way his best friend yelled “hey!”

Daryl's history notebook.

He opened it like it was some ancient codex or maybe a secret clue in a Dan Brown novel, but all he found were the words of his own lectures written in a messy little scrawl that struck him as so distinctly Daryl that he wanted to sew the pages together into a patchwork quilt and roll himself up inside of it.

Jesus, Rick, get a damn hold of yourself.

“I guess I should give it back to him. I'll see him Wednesday.” Rick groaned internally. Why the hell was Wednesday a whole two days away? 

“You get promoted from Captain Subtlety to General Dumbass without telling me? Damn, Rick, do you want this boy or not?”

“What?”

Shane ripped the notebook back away from him and turned it around, pointing at the words written on the cover like it was story time and this was a picture he really wanted Rick to see and understand.

“Monroe Hall. Room 212,” Shane recited, large finger tapping against the “M” in “Monroe.”

“Shane, I can't ju-”

“Can't what, Rick? Can't deliver a student his notebook? What if he needs it so he'll be prepared for your class on Wednesday? All the kids tell me you're kind of a hard ass.” Shane quirked up one eyebrow conspiratorially.

“Well,” Rick said, thinking it over, nodding more and more as Shane's terrible suggestion steadily gained appeal, “If he needed it and didn't have it, that would be a damn shame.”

Shane smiled.  
  
“A damn shame indeed.” 

* * *

Daryl had intended to spend his evening over in the garage, safe and secure underneath some car where no one could see him. But by the time he'd gotten out of his afternoon class, the thought of walking over there and all the people who would be out and about between where he was and where he wanted to be... He just couldn't bring himself to make the trek. Not today.

So, instead he'd gone back to his dorm and curled up in his bed with his cheap 2GB mp3 player he'd gotten for Christmas a few years back from one of his more subjectively wealthy uncles—subjectively in the fact that it had probably gone on a credit card that had long-since gone into default. It still had the same 5 albums it had been pre-loaded with, because Daryl had never had a computer to use to change the musical lineup.

Everything on it was rough—Skynard and Metallica and Motorhead. Normally, Daryl loved that, even if he was tired of listening to the same sixty or so songs.

But right now his brain was craving softness and catharsis. He pulled the cheap over-the-ear headphones off, and was very much contemplating calling Glenn at work and seeing if he could borrow his iPod so he could listen to Coldplay of all the damn things, when someone knocked on his door.

With his blanket wrapped around him—because who else could it be but Maggie coming to check on him since he'd been ignoring her texts all evening—Daryl walked to the door. He quickly learned that Monroe Hall had another flaw other than its age and the fact that one of the elevators only worked every other full moon on a solstice and only after a blood sacrifice. And that newly-recognized flaw was that the doors lacked peep holes.

He hadn't really noticed before since no one had been to visit him or Glenn since school started.

Sighing and knowing that really it didn't matter, because he didn't have any other friends who knew where he lived anyway (and if it was one of Glenn's gaming buddies, what the fuck did he care since all he had to do was say, “He's not here”), Daryl opened the door.

* * *

Rick waited, bouncing on the toes of the nice leather cowboy boots he always wore with the rest of his collegiate attire. Daryl Dixon lived on the other side of this door. Daryl Dixon slept on the other side of this door. Daryl Dixon got naked and showered NAKED on the other side of this damn door. 

His blood started pumping just a little too fast, but then the door opened, and he had to focus all of his energy on not sighing like he'd just slid down into a warm bath.

Daryl Dixon looked, by all accounts, like he'd just woken up. Standing there wrapped in a patchwork quilt, one half of his medium-length dishwater blonde hair was ruffled and stuck up at weird angles. That side of his face was crisscrossed with faint pillow creases too. God, what a fucking adorable creature. Rick wanted to see him like this every damn morning until the day the good lord above called him home.

Well, except for the expression Daryl wore in his eyes, which were finally reacting to Rick's presence and slowly shifting from sadness to complete surprise.

“Professor Grimes?”

* * *

That was it. Daryl was completely done with life, and he gave up and wanted nothing more to do with the whole damn thing. How dare the universe let that man show up here right now?

Daryl was very torn. After all, Professor Grimes was the reason he felt like shit right now. He just had to fucking meddle, had to make Daryl question his sanity, had to make Daryl feel like he was broken on top of all the other shitty things he already was.

On the other hand, he wasn't wearing his tweed jacket and the top button of his white shirt was undone, and Daryl kind of just wanted to invite him in and ask him to ravish him on his bed just a little bit. 

“Professor Grimes?” he asked, because this had to be the start to another dream. Surely, any second now, it would turn into something that would leave Daryl waking up sweaty and sticky with his own cum. Though he kind of hoped not. He was out of quarters and didn't want to have to hand-wash his sheets in the sink.

“May I?” the professor asked, motioning like he wanted to come in. Too stunned to argue, Daryl moved out of the doorway and let him step inside.

“I'm guessing this isn't your side,” he said, looking around as he limped a little deeper into the room. Glenn had sticky-tacked up a couple of half-naked alien girls on wall, and Daryl suddenly found himself embarrassed by them even though they weren't his. He shook his head, cheeks going warm.

“You left this,” Professor Grimes said, and Daryl finally noticed the red notebook clasped in one of his hands. The professor set it down on Daryl's desk next to his bookbag. “Wasn't sure if you would need it before class.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.”

He expected the professor to leave now, though he didn't understand why he had really come inside in the first place considering it was just a notebook and all he had to do was hand it off. Hell, he could've just slid it under the door even.

What he didn't expect was for the professor to sit down on the edge of his bed. There was pretty limited seating seeing as he only had beds and two little wooden desk chairs to choose from, but still, Professor Grimes was, technically-speaking, in Daryl's bed. Fuck.

“You alright, Daryl?”

“I'm fine,” he lied. Because just five minutes ago, he'd been contemplating listening to Coldplay and for Daryl Dixon, that was not even remotely close to fine. The professor patted the bed next to him.

“Sit down. You're making me nervous.”

Daryl making _him_ nervous. Yeah, that would be the damn day.

Tentatively, cautiously, Daryl sat down, leaving about two feet of space between them.

“I don't wanna talk,” Daryl blurted out, because that was the only reason he could see that the professor would stick around. More urging him to seek help for a problem he didn't have. Though with that wavy-haired god of a man sitting on his bed, he might just very well end up crazy before the night was over.

“Well, I guess we can just stare at each other awkwardly if that's what you want.”

Want you to leave me alone and stop torturing me with your stupid goddamn beautiful fucking face.

“I didn't mean...” Daryl covered half his face with his quilt. “Just don't wanna talk about... what we did earlier.”

“I know,” the professor said, adjusting his position on the bed. When he finished, he seemed to be sitting just a little closer. “Where's your roommate?”

Daryl glanced over at the empty side of the room. 

“Working.”

“What's he do?” The older man shifted positions again to turn more toward Daryl while they talked. And now his knee rested against Daryl's thigh, only the quilt and two layers of clothing between them. 

His leg is touching my leg. His fucking leg is touching my leg and I am going to fucking die.

Daryl was suddenly very grateful for the quilt he was wrapped up in because there was no way he could get his body to calm down no matter how many times he said “dead puppies” in his head. He adjusted himself too, trying to alleviate some of the pressure his jeans were putting on a now steadily-growing erection.

The professor raised an eyebrow expectantly, and Daryl remembered now that he had asked him something. Fuck, what was the damn question?

“Delivers pizzas.”

“Out late a lot then?” Professor Grimes leaned forward a little, resting his elbow on his thigh and his chin on the palm of his hand. He was so close now, and Daryl could see every single detail in the irises of the man's sapphire eyes even in the shitty yellowy lighting of his dorm room.

His cheeks got very very warm.

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing and trying not to look like he was as fucking undone as he was.

“How are you not burning up under that thing?” The professor reached out and touched the blanket, and Daryl could feel his fingertips sliding across his knee for a brief second even through the fabric. Jesus Christ, he was going to be in the shower violating himself all night at this rate.

At least he didn't want to spend the whole thing in bed moping anymore. He supposed vigorously fingering his asshole and wishing it was his professor's dick was at least a slight improvement.

“I'm...” Daryl slid the blanket off his arms a little, because he actually was _extremely_ warm by then, but he didn't dare let it uncover his lap, because he knew he probably had about a 12-person tent going on in his jeans at the moment.

“Warm from just walking over here,” Professor Grimes said, casually undoing another button like it wasn't going to fucking kill someone. “Wish the damn seasons would change already.”

What did he just say? Shit.

“Yeah?” Daryl said, the word curling up into a question because he wasn't even sure if it was an appropriate response to whatever had just come out of the other man's mouth after his fingers deftly slid that button out of its hole.

God he could use those fingers on another hole if he wanted.

“Actually, screw it,” the professor said. “Do you mind?” He was already pulling the tail of his shirt out of his slacks and starting on the buttons. “Got a tee shirt underneath.”

Daryl's lips moved up and down like they wanted to say something, but he couldn't get a damn sound out for the life of him. All he wanted to do was reach under the blanket and give himself just a little friction, because he was dying with need right now.

“Uh, what?”

The professor laughed quietly, already slipping the shirt off his arms, and Holy riverdancing Christ, no shirt should be allowed to be that tight even if it _was_ an undershirt. All he could see were pecs and the subtle definition of the other man's stomach. And God the way it hugged his upper arms. 

“Fuck,” Daryl said, without even meaning to, and he clamped his hand right over his mouth to hold in any other stupid that felt like trying to escape.

“What? You hot too?” the older man asked. “This building has always been shit on temperature control. Back when I lived here, I used to have to sleep naked, or I would lay awake all night sweating.”

Daryl cleared his throat to keep from whimpering, because even though he knew this probably wasn't his professor's former room, he couldn't help but let himself imagine, just briefly, that he was sleeping in a bed this man had been naked in once. His cock jerked. 

“Here,” Professor Grimes said quietly, tugging at Daryl's blanket. “You'll probably feel better without that.”

Daryl's hands clamped down on the blanket, and it couldn't have been anything but pure self-preservation instinct, because the other man probably could've gotten away with about anything else at that point given how damn fuzzy Daryl's brain had done.

“Oh c'mon, Mr. Dixon, you've gotta be burning up under that thing.”

Daryl's chest was tightening a little, and his breathing was speeding up, but it was a lot different than the way it had happened in class earlier. He briefly imagined letting it go, letting the professor find him hard in his pants. The idea thrilled him for about three seconds before he remembered that he couldn't fucking have the man in front of him, and he was likely to leave and kick him out of his class if he saw just how fucking hard Daryl was for him.

“I'm okay,” Daryl said. “Really.”

“Didn't really take you for cold-natured.” Professor Grimes reached out, gently resting a hand on Daryl's neck. “What I thought. Skin like a heat lamp.”

He's touching me. He's fucking touching me skin-to-fucking-skin he's touching me _in my bed_ he's fucking _touching_ me.

“I...”

“Shhh.” 

Daryl felt the blanket slip away through his fingers, and then it was gone. The professor's eyes flitted down to his lap, and Daryl felt a little flutter of panic, because there was no mistaking the fact that he had a raging hard-on right now. He opened his mouth to apologize, but the older man spoke before he could.

“That for me?”

His voice was lower than Daryl had ever heard it go, a deep and dark and smooth molasses. That time he couldn't stop himself from whimpering.

God, yes it's for you.

“I'm sorry.”

“Why?”

“Because you... you're... and I...”

Daryl didn't even know what the fuck he meant. Because you're my professor and I'm not supposed to want you? Because you're a gorgeous other-worldly being and I'm just redneck white trash that probably should've been drowned at birth?

“Nothing to be sorry for, Daryl.”

“Prof-”

“Rick.”

“What?”

“We're not in class, Daryl. You can call me Rick.”

“Rick,” Daryl said, and for some reason it felt a lot less awkward than the other times professors had told him to use their first names. Almost like it was something his mouth had been made to say.

“That looks uncomfortable,” Rick said, eyes back on Daryl's erection.

And what the fuck was he supposed to say to that?

But he didn't have to say anything, because Rick was already shifting and leaning toward him, hand on one of Daryl's thighs.

Oh my fucking god, what the hell is even happening right now?

He felt the professor's nose press into the skin of his neck, and Daryl inhaled in a series of short little puffs as the older man slowly nuzzled into the skin there.

“God you smell amazing,” he said before planting a soft kiss right on the crook between Daryl's neck and shoulder, a little brush of his lips just barely off the collar of Daryl's sleeveless tee shirt. 

Fucking holy fuck.

Daryl looked down right around the time that Rick's hand finally finished its journey up his thigh, and then he felt the man rubbing his cock through his jeans, and that's when he lost it completely. Because no, this couldn't be happening. This just couldn't be right.  
  
Daryl jumped back.

“Whoa,” Rick said, immediately pulling his hands off him and leaning away. “Easy.”

“Get out.”

“What?" The professor tried to touch Daryl's wrist, and he jerked it away. "Shit, Daryl, I'm sorry. Did I go too fast? I can slow down if you...”

“I don't know what you're trying to... Just go.” All Daryl could think now was that this had to be some kind of trick, something for the professor to laugh about later over lunch with his jock buddy. Guys like that had no business screwing around with guys like him otherwise.

“Daryl..”

“Said get out.”

The professor sighed, but he nodded and stood up, grabbing his button-up shirt and starting to pull it on. Daryl escorted him to the door.

“I'm sorry,” Professor Grimes said again, standing there in front of Daryl's door hastily doing up his buttons and looking around like he was afraid someone would see him. That struck Daryl as a lot more realistic than whatever the hell had just happened. 

“Don't worry about it. I ain't worth being sorry over.” Daryl shut the door before the other man could respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick thank you to everyone for all the love you've been giving me on this story so far. Your comments have been making me so very very happy.


	8. Aftermath

Rick had the music in his SUV up entirely too loud, and he knew it in the way he could feel each drum beat vibrating in his chest. But he thought blasting some metal CD that a date had left in here months ago might drown out all the stuff he was thinking about, and right now he really didn't need to think. Unfortunately, his plan wasn't working, and all it was doing was making his thoughts even louder.

Idiot, Rick. What the hell were you thinking coming onto a student in his _dorm_? At least have the fucking sense to lure him off campus before you start taking your clothes off.

No, that wasn't right either. Do not try to fuck students at all, Rick. Yes. That was much better.

But he couldn't stop thinking about Daryl Dixon answering the door, all pleasantly ruffled and wrapped in his blanket like a sleepy puppy dog. And he couldn't stop thinking about the way his neck smelled like salt and soap and motor oil. And God, when Rick licked his lips, he could have sworn he could taste the other man there even though they had barely even touched him.

And no matter how much getting kicked out of Daryl's dorm half-dressed should have killed the mood entirely, Rick's cock was still straining against his slacks, begging for attention from someone who wasn't even around to give it.

He tried to tell it that the game was off, very very off, but it wouldn't listen.

“Fuck,” he said out loud, and he couldn't even hear himself over the screaming of the vocalist on the CD.

Slamming his palm down on the steering wheel in frustration, Rick pulled over the side of the road and killed the engine, the abrupt silence almost alarming. 

“Can we not do this right now?” he asked, looking right down at the tent in his Dockers. But his erection stayed firmly in place, aching just a little with how much it needed to be taken care of.

Rick glanced out of his driver's side window. He was a few miles outside of town now, and the small highway he was on was clear. He bit his lip. 

This is a really stupid idea, Rick. Haven't you done enough stupid for a lifetime today already?

But his hands were already unbuckling and unbuttoning and unzipping. And when leaned his seat back and reached down into his steel gray boxer briefs to grasp himself tightly, he couldn't help but moan, the sound filling the emptiness left by the music.

This is such a bad idea, he thought, already stroking himself from base to tip, body lifting up slightly off the leather seat.  
  
_But you're a bad boy, ain't ya,_ _Rick_ _?_  
  
Damn't Rick, don't think about him saying stupid shit like that. You're not allowed after what you did. Hell, they'd need exponents just to describe the sheer scope of your fuckwittery on a mathematical scale.

But he was already stroking faster thinking about Daryl sitting there watching him with those guarded blue eyes. Rick set a pace he liked, going faster than he should have with his elbow still aching from the other night. But it felt so fucking good, and what was one more bad fucking decision now that he was already jerking himself off on the side of the goddamn road?

_I wanted you, Rick. You saw that._

God, yes. Rick bucked into his hand, rolling his body to meet each stroke. 

Maybe it hadn't been the right move and maybe it had been stupid as hell, but Daryl had been hard as fucking steel for him.

“Ah fuck.” Rick had taken almost no time to reach the precipice of completion, and every single movement had him feeling like just any second now...

_Be patient. We'll get there, and it'll be me doin this instead of you._

His mind flashed rapidly through a series of images like a slide show playing at double-speed, and every single mental picture was of Daryl doing something increasingly filthy to him.

Hands. Mouth. Ass.

“Oh fuckin shit.” Rick groaned rough and loud at the feeling of the tension is his body winding all the way up and then snapping loose, like a rubber band pulled far past its limit. He twitched with each spasm of release, spurting cum all over his hand and the steering column, panting for breath. 

Finally spent, he rested there against his seat, mouth hanging open as he came down from his high, hating himself more and more for what he'd just done with every passing second.

Shane was right, Rick. You're just as much of a pig as he is.

Rick pulled his button-up off for the second time that night, and used it to mop up his mess before cranking the car up and pulling back out onto the highway. 

* * *

Daryl tore his way into the bathroom of his dorm room as soon as Rick was gone, turning the shower knob all the way over toward the little blue C and crawling into the tub still wearing his clothes. Hell, he hadn't even bothered to shut the bathroom door. 

Icy water pouring down on him and quickly killing all the leftover heat from his encounter with Professor Grimes, Daryl curled up into a little ball on in the bottom of the tub and willed himself to die.

And that was how Glenn found him when he got home from work, freezing and shivering after laying there for God only knew how long.

“Daryl, what the hell, dude?” The feeling of water hitting his skin stopped, and all he could feel now was cold.

“Sorry,” Daryl said weakly, stumbling over the word as his teeth chattered.

“Dude,” Glenn said, looking more than just a little freaked out by the entire situation. 

Daryl willed himself to sit up, hugging his arms to his body in a vain attempt to warm himself back up.

“Do you need a towel?”

Yes. A towel. Daryl nodded and Glenn went and grabbed one of his own, bringing it into him. Daryl wrapped up in it, so grateful that for whatever reason, Glenn had huge, fluffy towels that wrapped around his entire upper body. He snuggled into it.

He heard Glenn talking outside of the bathroom, but he could barely make out any of it. Maybe he had someone over.

“Just come... how long... don't know... help.”

Daryl stared at the tile on the floor, letting his eyes cross and uncross at the pattern for what seemed like days. All he wanted to do was forget...

“Daryl Dixon, get up.”

He looked up from the floor to find Maggie standing in his bathroom door, wearing pajama pants and a hoodie with her hair thrown up in a short, messy ponytail. 

“Maggie?” When did she get there? How?

“Get up,” she said, tugging on his arm. He stood, his soaked jeans squelching a little.

She stared at him for a second, standing there fully dressed in his shower, water dripping from seemingly every part of him. He felt like a wet dog, and he waited for her to scold him when she finished looking him over, but instead she lunged forward and embraced him tightly.

“Maggie, I'm gonna get you wet,” Daryl said, already trying to pull away from her.

“Don't answer my texts all night, and I get a call from Glenn at one in the morning about you layin comatose in your bath tub,” she said. “I don't know what's going on, but you scared me half to death tonight and if you don't stop squirming and let me hug you, I'm gonna knee you right where the sun don't shine.”

Daryl stopped moving and let her hug him.

“Thank you,” she said curtly, and then she made him tell her where she could find him dry clothes so he could change in the bathroom instead of dripping all over the carpet. 

He came out in sweat pants and a white tank having left his clothes slung over the shower bar to dry overnight. He hoped, just a little, that Maggie was already gone, because he really didn't want to have to talk about everything that had happened tonight... not yet. But he found her sitting at the foot of Glenn's bed, watching him play one of his games.

“Ooh, shoot that one,” she said, pointing at a zombie in the upper corner of the screen. Glenn toggled the crosshairs over and hit his space bar. He missed. 

“Crap. That was the last of my ammo.”

“Better run then,” Maggie said, and Glenn used the arrow keys to get the hell out of there, stopping only when he got to the next save point.  
  
Maggie patted him on the shoulder and looked over at Daryl, now dry and dressed save his damp hair.

“Hey,” Daryl said softly, feeling like a shithead because she had to walk over here in her pajamas in the middle of the night. Hell, Glenn had probably woken her up too.  
  
“Walk me home,” she said, and Daryl nodded, slipping on his boots. She leaned down and kissed Glenn on the forehead before she left. “Thanks for calling.”  
  
He gave her a little half-smile, throwing Daryl a look of pity on their way out.   
  
“So, what happened?” she asked, after they were safely out in the hall away from anyone who might be listening.

“A lot,” Daryl said. He had told her over lunch about the whole... freaking out thing. About how the professor had told him to breathe and rubbed his arms and... Daryl fought back a little twinge of pain just thinking about it.

“I kept waitin for you to call so you could tell me all the juicy details about your meeting.”

“He asked me if I've ever seen a shrink about panic attacks,” Daryl said. 

“Oh,” Maggie said, pushing open the front door to the building. The warm late summer air felt really good on his skin after having spent so much time in the water. “And have you?”

Daryl looked over at her. 

“I don't have panic attacks,” he said and Maggie raised an eyebrow at him. He couldn't even believe they had only known each other just a few days, because he already knew exactly what that expression meant— _I think you're kidding yourself a little, don't you?_

Daryl sighed.

“I left my notebook in his office,” he said. “Knew it before I'd left the building, but I couldn't get my feet to turn back around and face him after I'd...”

“Gotten all flustered and stormed out like the Daryl we all know and love?”

“Shut up,” Daryl said, nudging her with his elbow as they walked down the sidewalk. 

“Well, at least you have an excuse to see him tomorrow if he's got your notebook,” she said, smiling a little. “Gotta make you feel a little better about whatever's bothering you, huh?”

Daryl stopped walking. “He doesn't have my notebook.”

“But you said...”

“He brought it back to me.”

Maggie's eyebrows moved a little closer together, her forehead wrinkling as she tried to connect the dots in the information Daryl had given her.

“What?” she asked. 

“Someone knocked on the door, and I thought it was you, but it wasn't.”

Maggie's eyes went wide.

“He brought your notebook back to your _room_?” she asked, lowering her voice to an almost inaudible hiss. “Oh my gosh, I need to know absolutely everything right now. What did he say when he handed it to you? Did he look like he wanted to come in?”

“He did come in.”

Maggie gasped loudly and covered her mouth, a little squeal escaping from somewhere inside of her.

“Daryl!”

“Shh.”

“Did you? No of course you didn't,” she said. “You didn't, did you?”

“He wanted to.”

Maggie's mouth opened in shock and she walked in a little circle like she didn't even know what to do with her body anymore. 

“What did he do?” she asked, bouncing just a little.

“Please don't make me tell you,” Daryl begged. He couldn't imagine telling Maggie all about his awkward boner and how the professor had touched it and how good it had felt to have the other man's nose nuzzling him even for a minute.

“Did he hurt you?” she asked, an edge of protectiveness creeping into her voice when she did.

“No.”

“Tell me the relevant part then, the part that leads to you being in the shower and me being woken up at 1 a.m.”

Daryl sighed.

“I kicked him out.”

“Why?” she asked. “Why in God's name would you kick a man who looks like that out of your bed?”

“Exactly,” Daryl said. “A man who looks like that. Why would he want to be in _my_ bed? Had to be some kinda trick, right?”

“Oh, Daryl,” she said, pulling him into yet another hug, petting his hair a little on the way out. He didn't pull away.  
  
“He started touchin me, and it just felt wrong. Too good to be true, you know?”

“I don't think it was a trick, Daryl,” Maggie said. “Bit of a stupid move on his part, sure, but the way he's been looking at you when he thinks he can get away with it...”

“Keep tellin you he hasn't.”

“Keep tellin you he has,” she said. “And to put his career at risk... Maybe you're the thing that's too good to be true for him, Daryl. Ever think about that?”

Daryl made a little pfft noise and started walking. Like he could ever be too good to be true for anyone, let alone someone who was actually worth a damn. 

“You know, I don't know who taught you to hate yourself so much, but I really hope it's the one thing you unlearn here.” Maggie reached over and squeezed his hand for a second.

Daryl didn't know what to say to that, so he walked beside her in silence until they reached Blake Hall. 

“Night, Daryl,” Maggie said, giving him another big hug. This time he returned it, squeezing her lightly against him.  
  
“Hey, Maggie...” he said, calling after her before she slipped inside.  
  
“Yeah?” She stopped in the doorway and turned back around.  
  
“Just...thanks.”

Maggie smiled at him before disappearing into the building, and Daryl walked back to his dorm, not quite happy, but still feeling a lot better than he really had all day.

 


	9. Desperado

Daryl knocked a full six hours off of his garage requirement on Tuesday. As soon as his math class ended, he'd gone over and pulled on a jump suit. He'd stayed there until his automotive class, not even bothering to change, and then he'd signed back in right after with every intention of staying until they shut down the garage at eight.

And when some poor chemistry lab assistant had brought in an old Chevy Impala with peeling paint, Daryl had practically begged to do the oil change—which was one of the few things students were allowed to do at his stage in the educational process. 

Daryl oiled up the gasket, getting it primed to remove, but he realized he'd forgotten to grab anything to catch the used oil in.

“Uh, Dale?”

But he already knew Professor Horvath had walked away, because he'd seen his feet go.

“Hello,” he said, just a little louder. Sure, he could slide the creeper out from under the car and get up and go find one himself, but he had gotten so comfortable hiding underneath the old car, and he wasn't so eager to leave the safety of his two ton shell. A pair of feet walked by again, and Daryl called out one more time. They stopped.

“Need something?” they asked, and Daryl recognized the voice but couldn't place it.

“Yeah. Doing an oil change and didn't grab anything to catch it in.”

“Daryl?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
The person squatted down to peek under the car, and Daryl found himself looking at Aaron's easy smile.  
  
“Oh, hey.”  
  
Aaron gave a little wave, wiggling the tips of his fingers, and then he went and found Daryl what he needed, sliding it to him underneath the car.  
  
“Working on your garage hours?” he asked, and Daryl glanced over to see Aaron's steel-toed boots standing a little back from the car.

“Yeah,” Daryl said, releasing the plug so the old oil would start draining. “Just wanted to be somewhere where shit actually makes sense.”

“I know that feeling,” Aaron said. “So who is he, and what did he do?”

Daryl forced himself to scoot out from underneath the car even though he really didn't want to. He sat up on the creeper, wiping his hands with a dirty red rag. 

“How did you...?”

“I've been there,” Aaron said. “More times than I care to admit.”

Daryl folded his wrists and placed them on top of his knees, letting his head rest against his forearm for a minute. He didn't quite know why, though he had a pretty good idea, but he felt like he could talk to Aaron. Maybe he couldn't tell him everything, because even though Daryl was still reeling, and even though he still wasn't sure it hadn't been some kind of game, he didn't want to get the professor fired. The fewer people who knew, the better. 

“Can't really say who,” Daryl said, trying to figure out how to put things without putting things.  
  
“It's okay,” Aaron said. “You don't have to talk about it unless you want to.”

“We're just different kinds of people,” Daryl said, because he did want to talk about it, and Aaron was a set of fresh ears who might have some new insight. “And Maggie keeps tellin me he wants me, and I can't understand why.”

“You can't understand why he'd want you?”

“He's... He's got a job, no, _a career._ Out of school and everything, and here I am just an idiot freshman with nothin to offer him. It doesn't make any sense.” Daryl glanced back to see if the oil was still flowing. “Wouldn't really have nothin to offer him even if we were on the same page.”

“Well, there's your problem.”

Finally. Someone understood and actually agreed that Daryl really wasn't good enough. 

And It should have been a relief, not having to argue with someone else who insisted he was something more than he was. So why did he feel just a little sad?  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“No, I mean the way you're viewing the relationship, Daryl. That's your problem.”

“What?” Daryl asked.

“You see yourself as having nothing to offer him because you don't have your own career yet, but you don't date someone because of their job or their college degree.” 

Daryl looked back again, grateful that the oil flow had slowed a trickle so he had a good reason to slide back under the car and back into his comfort zone.   
  
“The things you offer to another person are more important than stuff like that,” Aaron continued. “A listening ear, kind words on a bad day, a shoulder to cry on, a stupid joke when they need to hear one. Simply put, it's not about material possessions or your current place in life. It's about finding someone you want to support through everything—good and bad, someone who does the same for you. Maybe you have more to offer than you realize, Daryl.”

Daryl mm'd softly, contemplating what Aaron had just finished saying. 

“How do you feel toward him?” Aaron asked. “I'm not talking about feeling inadequate either. I mean, what are your actual feelings regarding him?”  
  
Daryl thought about the professor. He thought about the first time he'd seen him and about how so much had already happened in the short period of time since. He thought about the way the other man had touched him last night, the way he'd muttered in his ear how good he smelled. 

But as much as he'd been dying to be touched like that his whole life, the encounter last night wasn't even the thing that stuck out the most in his mind.  
  
No, the image that seemed the clearest and brightest was of the professor looking at him softly, stroking his arms and reminding him over and over how to breathe.  
  
Support through both the good and the bad.   
  
That part of Daryl's brain that had always been a little askew righted itself for just a minute. Insisting Daryl see someone so he wouldn't have to suffer anymore... Maybe he hadn't thought Daryl was crazy. Maybe he had just trying to help.   
  
And that day in class when Rick had asked him all those questions about the Phoenicians... What if he hadn't been grilling him? What if he'd been leading him toward the right answer since Daryl was having trouble getting there on his own?

Daryl felt a brief almost-overwhelming swell of something a lot like hope blooming in his chest. 

But then it flickered out like damp kindling. And the deeply-rooted, more insidious part of his brain planted seeds of doubt right there in the middle of his hope garden.  
  
“How do you know?” Daryl asked, biting back the feelings of confusion that made him always want to scream. “How do you know they mean what they feel and that they aren't just playing some trick on you?”  
  
How do you know they're not going to build you up and then shatter you into a million pieces, leaving you infinitely more broken than you ever were before?

“You don't,” Aaron said. “All you can do is decide if they're worth the risk.”

* * *

Rick didn't bother going in on Tuesday. His Tuesdays were clear anyway other than office hours, and he had no interest in getting out of bed today. No interest at all.  
  
He had anyway, of course, just long enough to slip down to the CVS up the street and pick up two bottles of wine and a couple tubs of ice cream.  
  
And then he planted himself on his fluffy couch and spent all day watching historical documentaries on Netflix, drinking straight from the bottle with a half gallon of Double Fudge Brownie Blast beside him.  
  
“Jesus, man.”  
  
Rick looked up, a large cooking spoon loaded with ice cream in his hand. Why the fuck had he ever given Shane a key to his place?  
  
“Go away, Shane,” Rick said, but with a mouthful of chocolate upon chocolate in his mouth, it sounded more like, “Grr orar, Shrrm.” Rick swallowed.  
  
“You PMSing?”

“That's sexist, Shane,” Rick slurred out, tossing a throw pillow at his best friend. Shane caught it and threw it back onto the couch. 

“So I take it things went well with Daryl then,” he said. Rick dropped the spoon down into the tub and grabbed the almost-empty bottle of wine, frowning when he remembered that he'd finished the first one a couple hours ago.  
  
He should've gotten three. This was a three bottle situation. 

“Supergreat. It went super fantastricallry great, Shane. Like the great...est night of my life ever.” Rick laid back down on the couch because the room was spinning, and that was really pissing him off. Like, God, this was his house. What gave it the right to move?

Shane picked Rick's legs up so he could sit down, letting them flop back down in his lap after he slid onto the couch.  
  
“Did you get to see him naked?”

Rick shook his head lazily from side-to-side, and then regretted it because now the ceiling was spinning too. Ugh. Why was everything he owned betraying him? 

“He's s'cute Shane. Like a baby duck.”  
  
“I'll take your word for it, Rick,” he said. “So you didn't nail him then?”

“Shhh,” Rick said, wide-eyed. “Someone'll hear you.”

“We're at your house, Rick.” 

Rick looked around. Oh yeah.  
  
“I pulled his blanket off off his lap, and he was so hard, Shane. Like... SAT hard.”

Shane's head snapped over, clearly not expecting that to be the next thing out of Rick's mouth, especially since he had found him drunk and wrist-deep in a tub of ice cream.

“And?”

“He smelled pretty. So pretty.”

“His dick smelled pretty?”

“No, Shane. God.” Rick pulled a pillow down on top of his face, groaning. 

“Did you touch his... him?”  
  
“Mhm,” Rick said.

“But you didn't nail him?”  
  
“Stop saying it like that, Shane, you...” Rick burped soundlessly, making a face at the taste of wine and ice cream melding together. “You butthead.”

“Ouch, brother,” Shane said sarcastically. “Well, if you didn't screw him, what happened?”

“He threw me out.” Rick made a pouty face at the other man.  
  
“Why?”

“Because he's Desperado,” Rick said, like it was the most obvious explanation in the world. 

“How drunk are you exactly?”

“No no no, Shane. He is.” God, it was so simple. Why did he even have to explain this?

“The hell are you talkin about?” Shane asked, yanking the bottle of wine away from Rick when he tried to take another drink. Fucking rude. 

“ _Desperadoooo_ ...” Rick started singing, low and horribly off-key.  
  
“Oh, good God, Rick.”  
  
“ _Why don't you come to your senses? Come down from your fences, open the gate_ .”  
  
“Rick, Jesus. Stop.”  
  
“ _It may be rainin' but there's a rainbow above you._ ” .  
  
“Sweet Christ.”

“No, no, Shane... Shh... Wait for it...” Rick pointed his finger at his best friend, and then let it flop down because his arm felt a lot heavier than he remembered it being. 

“ _You better let somebody love you, let somebody looooove youuu. You better-_ mmfphd Shrrrm.” Shane had reached over and covered Rick's mouth with one of his large hands, effectively ending the musical explanation of why he hadn't managed a home run with Daryl Dixon.   
  
Dick.  
  
“Please. There are dogs howling in the next county.”  
  
Rick stuck his tongue out and licked Shane's hand.  
  
“That's disgusting,” Shane said, wiping it on the leg of his athletic pants. Rick smirked at him.  
  
“Well, that was all just real enlightenin,” Shane said. "Everything makes complete sense now."  
  
“I knowww.”

Shane rolled his eyes. Then the room fell quiet for a moment, his sober best friend side-eyeing him and shaking his head. 

“Shaaaane,” Rick whined.  
  
“What, buddy?”

“I want pizza.” And Daryl Dixon. Pizza and Daryl Dixon. But right now he'd settle for the first thing. 

“Good,” Shane said. “Sober your drunk ass up a little.”

“I want marinara to dip it in,” Rick said. “And ranch. Get ranch. Oh, hey, Shane... Shane, see if they have brownies.”

His best friend let out an exasperated sigh and pulled out his phone. 

* * *

 The pizza had worked wonders on soaking up the wine in his system, and by the time he'd started his fourth slice, Rick felt mostly coherent again.  
  
“Sorry for all that in there,” Rick said, gesturing toward his living room from where he and Shane sat at the bar in his kitchen.  
  
“Hey. Remember that time I got so drunk in college, I stripped butt ass naked and climbed the sculpture behind the art building?”

“Yep. Had to talk you off it before security showed up. Lured you down by telling you I'd managed to get Gina Bryant's number for you.” Man, that had been a wild night. Rick had hooked up with some cute little frat boy and had literally just finished cumming when their friend Lori had come running in to tell him that he had better help her with Shane before the idiot got himself arrested.

“Yeah, well now we're even,” Shane said, clapping him on the shoulder. Rick kind of figured Shane had gotten the better end of that bargain, but it didn't really matter enough for him to argue. 

“So let's try this again,” Shane said. “Why did he kick you out?”  
  
“At first, I thought I'd just freaked him out,” Rick said. “I mean, and why wouldn't I have? Coming onto him in his dorm like that.”  
  
“But?”

“But I was up half of last night thinking about the last thing he said to me, and I probably did freak him out, Shane, but I think the real problem is that he thinks he's not good enough.”

“Well clearly he's never heard you sing.” 

“It's ain't just me, Shane,” Rick said, ignoring his little quip. “I don't think he thinks he's good enough for anyone.”

“Well," Shane said, pulling off a pepperoni and dropping it in his mouth, "then you'll just have to show him, huh?”

“Shane, I can't. It was stupid enough what I did last night. I've got to leave him alone.” Rick took a sip of water. “Shit, what if he tells someone and I lose my job?”

“Well, we can always do what we used to talk about in high school,” Shane offered, more to cheer Rick up it seemed than anything, because he didn't sound remotely serious.

“What? Join the police academy and ride around side-by-side cleaning up the mean streets of King County?”

“Why not? I'd probably look pretty good in a uniform,” Shane said. “Hell, maybe even good enough to distract people from how ridiculous you'd look.”

Rick glared at him. He would look _damn_ good in a cop uniform, thank you very much. 

“Look, brother,” Shane said, getting serious again, “You and I both know you ain't leavin that boy alone.”

Rick hated him just a little for being right. How the hell was he in so damn deep already? 

“Look, as soon as he gets out of your class, he's fair game. So just keep whatever the hell you two get up to quiet until then, and if anyone asks, well, it didn't start til after.”  
  
Rick thought about it. Shane was right. Hell, if Rick really wanted to do this right, he'd just wait until January and then start pursuing Daryl in earnest. But he had never been a particularly patient man. And the fact that Daryl didn't think he was lovable sort of made Rick eager to change that. Rick rubbed the bridge of his nose. He could see where this was going on his part, and there was no point in even debating himself anymore. The decision had been made.

“First things first though,” Rick started, reaching over for another slice, “I've gotta convince that adorable little duckling that he's well-worth all the trouble.”


	10. Avoid

On Wednesday, Rick woke up at the asscrack of dawn. Resolved now to make the worst possible decision he could (and hopefully the best as well), he put double the effort into his appearance. He carefully shaved away the little shadow he had after spending a whole day out of commission, styled his hair with a little wax, and then set about dressing himself.  
  
He didn't bother with his usual “standard professor” outfit. No, he wanted to be noticed today. So he pulled out a blue button-up in a nice shade of light blue, and then layered a navy plaid vest on top of it, tucking a slate gray tie underneath.  
  
Once upon a time Shane had looked at him in that combo and said, “Man, if I were playin for your team...”  
  
If he could get an almost literal rise out of Shane Walsh, well, then it had to be damn good. He just hoped it would be good enough for Daryl. And that he would be too.  
  
The pain in his knee barely noticeable after a day lounging around his house, Rick couldn't help the pure swagger punctuating his every step as he strolled up the stairs leading in to the Humanities Building. Nor could he help the little smirk that quirked up his lips when he caught a reflection of himself in the glass doors.  
  
His self-esteem was at Shane levels right now, and he looked fucking hot. Risks be damned, it was time to get his man.  
  
But Daryl's seat in the front row was empty when he walked in. And after Rick quickly scanned the room to make sure he hadn't moved, he couldn't help the way his ego faltered. He checked the clock, hoping the other man was just running a little late. Yeah, that had to be it.  
  
But Daryl never showed.  
  
And he didn't show on Friday either. Nor did he attend the GSA meeting Friday afternoon.  
  
Rick spent all weekend drunk and refreshing the class roster on the student/teacher portal just to make sure Daryl's name was still there.  
  
And by the end of class Monday, after spending the entire class lecturing to an empty seat, Rick was ready to tear his wavy hair out strand by strand.  
  
“It's Miss Greene, right?” he said, cornering the brown-haired girl as she put all her things away in her tote bag after class. He had seen her talking to Daryl, had seen them hanging out at Bounce the night of the party. They were friends, and if anyone knew where he was and why he was torturing him like this, it would be her.   
  
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Maggie Greene.”

Rick stared at her a minute, thinking about just what he was going to say. Did she know? Was she close enough to Daryl that he would've told her about the dorm room incident? She raised her eyebrows at him, waiting for him to speak, and he panicked just a little. 

“You got the highest grade on Monday's exam,” he blurted out. No, that wasn't what you fucking wanted to say at all.  
  
“Oh,” she said. “Well, that's good, I guess.”

Rick ran his fingers through his hair, scratching a bit at the back of his neck. 

“Is D- Is Mr. Dixon not feeling well?”  
  
Maggie looked up at him, and the look on her face reminded Rick of the way someone stares at a rescue dog in a shelter. It wasn't quite full-blown pity, but it was close. And in that instant, he was sure she knew. And when she opened her mouth to answer, he was double sure.  
  
“He's just working some things out,” she said, and Rick knew he needed to listen closely to every single word. Because Maggie Greene couldn't explain properly in a classroom full of people, but she could damn well hint. “College is different than he's used to. Lots of new experiences.”

“I hope he's adjusting okay,” Rick said, trying to hint back. “I enjoy having him in class. Would be nice to have him back.”

“I reckon he'll...” She trailed off, and Rick figured she was trying to think of a way to phrase whatever she needed to say so that she didn't actually say it. “I reckon he'll get there.”

She smiled at him and hitched her tote up on her shoulder. Rick didn't watch her leave, too busy dealing with the warm swell of hope slowly seeping into the maddeningly empty spaces left by Daryl's absence. 

* * *

Daryl was sick and fucking tired of the word, “avoid” and every single derivative of it. Sick and motherfucking goddamn tired.  
  
“You think you could turn in my essay for me Wednesday?” he asked. As far as he was concerned, there were only ten tests in Professor Grimes' class this semester, and he'd already done one of them. As long as he kept getting the notes and handing his work off to turn in, he only had to go to class nine times if he really wanted.  
  
Right now, as conflicted as he was, that seemed highly appealing.  
  
Maggie looked over at him from where she sat beside him at his desk, her feet swinging from Glenn's borrowed desk chair.  
  
“You can't avoid him forever,” she said, and Daryl's skin prickled at the word, because he'd only heard it about three hundred times since Friday. She'd let him off the hook last Wednesday given the intensity of the situation, but after that, it had been load after load of bullshit about how _avoidance_ wasn't healthy, about how he couldn't just _avoid_ what happened, about how he shouldn't be _avoid_ _ing_ things he might love just because the professor was the faculty adviser. Avoid, avoid, a-fucking-void.  
  
Daryl grumbled at her a little.  
  
“You got the notes from today?” he asked, trying to get her off the subject.  
  
“Yes,” she said, “And I ought not to give 'em to you.”

But Daryl knew she would.

“I'm not turning your essay in,” she said, after she relented and slid her notebook over to him. “You're gonna get your butt up and come to class.”

“Maaaggiiieee,” Daryl whined. 

“He asked about you today.” And the way she said made it feel like she had been struggling to hold it in this whole time, like she'd been dying to tell him but waiting until she thought it would have the most impact. And she had dropped the bomb at just the right time too, because Daryl's head snapped up away from their notebooks so fast he was surprised it didn't make a sound.  
  
“What?”

“We had a conversation about you.” And the way she smirked said she knew Daryl was dying for her to tell him every word. 

“What did he say?” Daryl asked, because, damn her, she was right.   
  
“That he misses you.”

“You're lyin. Wouldn't talk about me in the classroom.”

Maggie smacked him lightly on the arm. 

“I wouldn't dare lie to you unless it was for your own good. And he did,” she said. “He didn't use those words, but he may as well have.”  
  
“And what did you say?” Daryl asked. Because he knew Maggie and there was no way she hadn't meddled. 

“That you were working everything out inside of that gorgeous little head of yours and that I was pretty sure you'd come around and let him love you eventually.”

Daryl grumbled again. 

He'd been trying to. He really had. Some part of his brain had even accepted that the other man wanted him, but the other part of his brain wouldn't leave him alone either.  
  
He'd been back and forth a million times since Tuesday, his brain teeter-tottering between “Give it a shot” and “He doesn't really want you.” Between “Take the risk” and “He'll realize right after he gets you that he's made a huge mistake.” Between "do" and "definitely don't."   
  
Until he at least knew what he felt, he couldn't bring himself to look that man in the eyes.  
  
“Please, don't make me go yet,” Daryl said, flipping over the page in Maggie's notebook. He could almost hear the older man's smooth voice drawling on about the Mongols just from reading the words on the page.  
  
“I can't make you do anything,” Maggie said, “But if you don't go, you're gonna fail the essay. I'm not covering for you anymore.”

Daryl opened his mouth to argue, but the sound of a key turning the lock to his dorm room stopped him. 

“Hey, Glenn,” Maggie said cheerfully. “Borrowed your chair. Hope that's okay.”

Glenn seemed a little stunned, clearly not expecting anyone in his room but Daryl. This was the first night since the shower incident that Maggie had been here. But the library had closed early tonight for some fundraiser benefit, and so they'd been forced out of their usual meeting space. 

“Yeah, sure, no problem,” he said, and it struck Daryl that Maggie should've taken something better than a chair, because he probably would've let her have it.  
  
“Hey Glenn,” Daryl started, because he wanted the two of them to be friends even if Maggie wasn't ready for more (and, okay, maybe he was a little irritated with her too).  
  
“Yeah?”

“Gonna be a while copying these notes. Got a game or something you two can play?” Daryl asked. “Don't want her to be bored out of her mind.”

He expected Maggie to elbow him or glare or something, but she didn't. 

“Actually, that does sound a lot more fun than this.”  
  
Glenn looked a little dazed for a second, and then he caught himself and came back around to reality.  
  
“Yeah, just need a quick shower." He sniffed at his work shirt, "I smell like sausage.”

Maggie nodded, and ten minutes later, they were planted in front of his computer playing Mario Kart on an emulator with a pajama-clad Glenn back in his chair, Maggie behind him, sitting cross-legged on the foot of his bed.

Daryl took a lot longer copying her notes than necessary, smiling at the way she laughed when Glenn playfully yelled at her for dropping yet another banana peel.  
  
"You lose, sucker!" she said, tossing the controller down on his mattress. Glenn groaned.   
  
Hmm. Maybe Daryl wasn't the only person who needed to let somebody love him.

* * *

“Please, Maggie,” Daryl begged, reluctantly following her toward the classroom with his freshly-printed essay in his hand. He still had time to turn around and run back to his dorm if she'd only take the damn thing with her. 

“Nope.”

Daryl turned to a girl walking nearby. 

“Hey!” he yelled, a little too aggressively, and she glanced at him out of the corner of their eye like someone might glance at someone on the street corner proclaiming the end is near because of Muslim gays or whatever those wackadoos were against these days. “You have history right now, right?”

Again, it came out crazy and desperate. The girl lowered their head and kept walking. 

“Shit.”

“Daryl,” Maggie said, obviously exhausted with him, “it's not going to kill you.”

“It might.” If he had another p—another freakout thingy.

“Well, maybe,” she said. “If he wears what he wore last Wednesday, you might very well die, but at least half the class will go down with you.”

And Daryl resented her just a little for the way she giggled when his eyebrows shot up. 

“What did he-”  
  
But Maggie was already shoving him toward his seat in the first row. Daryl sat down, legs bouncing with how jittery he was about this whole situation. One hour and twenty minutes. Just four sets of twenty. Just eight sets of ten. If you sat through Brokeback Mountain, you can do this.   
  
“Good m-”  
  
Daryl looked up at Professor Grimes, who seemed to have stopped in his tracks at the door, eyes on Daryl's, and God, he could've sworn the man had let out a little sigh of relief before continuing on.  
  
“Excuse me,” the professor said, clearing his throat like something caught in it was the reason he'd quit talking. He dropped his saddle bag next to the podium like always.  
  
Daryl didn't have the slightest idea what outfit Maggie was referring to, but he knew this wasn't it. He recognized the slacks because of the little subtle wear around the right back pocket from the professor's wallet. And there was no mistaking that plaid blue tweed jacket.  
  
It didn't matter though. He was just as gorgeous wearing this as anything else Daryl could imagine, and that included that tight white tee shirt he'd been wearing when... Daryl felt the heat pool in his belly and swore internally at his body for reacting. Thank God the desk shielded that part of his anatomy from view. He just hoped it went down before the end of class.  
  
“If you'll all pass your essays up and to the left.”  
  
Daryl did, handing his and Maggie's over and passing along the rest that came down the row. Professor Grimes collected them, and then he began the lecture.  
  
And holy hell...  
  
Daryl hoped Maggie would let him copy her notes again anyway, because he only caught about every third word in the lecture. The professor's eyes strayed to him constantly, his eyes alternating between relief and blazing heat and something else, like they were trying to make up for all the lost time caused by him skipping, like Daryl might disappear if the other man didn't keep making sure he was still there.   
  
And Daryl was sure if someone pricked his finger right then, nothing would've happened because all the blood in his veins was currently coursing through one single part of his body, which in turn throbbed along in rhythm with his heartbeat.  
  
No, he took that back. Ninety percent of his blood was there; the other ten was boiling away in his cheeks. And he was sure his face was redder than a baboon's ass.  
  
The professor ended his lecture right beside his desk, and Daryl almost wanted to repay him for grabbing his dick last week by reaching over and getting a solid handful of the front of those slacks.  
  
But he left his warm palms resting on the desk, forcing his eyes up from the older man's crotch to his gorgeous face. The professor's eyes flicked down to his and he reached over, giving Daryl's shoulder a little squeeze that couldn't have lasted a second.  
  
And even though he knew it was supposed to mean something far from sexual, damn if Daryl didn't almost shoot off in his jeans like he was thirteen again.  
  
“I'll see you all Friday.” He gave Daryl a significant look at that. _I'll see you_ _ **all**_ _Friday. That means you too, you little shit._

People started filing out of the classroom, but Daryl didn't dare move. He at least needed to wait until enough people were gone that he had the privacy to adjust himself. 

“Are you coming?” Maggie asked.  
  
You have no fucking idea.  
  
“I... I'll catch up.”  
  
She smirked, throwing a little glance back at Professor Grimes, who was currently putting the stack of essays into an accordion folder in his bag.  
  
“Fine by me.”  
  
Shit. As soon as he could hide the tent in his jeans, he was going straight to his dorm room to take care of the situation. He didn't need lunch today anyhow. 

He ignored the little part of his brain that told him it would be a lot more fun to just follow the professor back to his office.  
  
Well, he tried to ignore it anyway. But he got through a couple graphic mental images of him spread open with one knee up on Rick's desk first.  
  
Fuck he needed to touch himself. If that beautiful bastard would just hurry up and leave.  
  
“Oh,” Rick said, looking up from his bag. He obviously hadn't expected anyone to still be there. “I didn't realize you were...”

“I'm alright. Just need a second.”

The man's brow furrowed, clearly trying to decide if there was some deeper meaning to what he'd said. 

Stop trying to make it into a damn puzzle and get the fuck out of here. I'm going to spontaneously fucking combust if I don't get home soon.  
  
“Are you, uh...” He glanced over at the open door to the classroom. “Are you okay? All things considered... I'm sorry things happened the way they did.”  
  
“Yep. Fine. You can go. I just needed a second.” Daryl looked down toward his lap, suppressing the part of him that wanted to let out a low whine of need.  
  
“I see,” Professor Grimes said, and Daryl could see his blue eyes trying to bore right through the desk like he had X-Ray vision, and goddamn't Daryl just knew he knew. He walked over and quietly closed the door.  
  
“You sure there's nothing I can help you with?”

Daryl can't stop the almost inaudible whimper in the back of his throat. Get over here and fix this because it's your goddamn fault. 

“Reckon that ain't a good idea, sir.” He swore at himself, because yes it was a fantastic idea actually and what the fuck was he saying no for?  
  
But even thought he door was shut, there was still a small window of plexiglass that just about anyone could look through if they felt so inclined. Bad idea. Bad bad idea.

“No, probably not,” Rick agreed. “But I don't exactly care anymore.”

Daryl's heart sped up, and he found himself surprised that the thing could possibly even beat any faster. And as soon as the words tumbled from Rick's mouth, he could see the highway stretching out before them, the end destination on the horizon, glowing bright and shiny like a beacon. 

They were going to fuck. It was glaringly obvious now just how inevitable that was. Today, tomorrow, next week—It didn't matter, because no matter how long it took, it was going to happen.

 _So why not now?_ He knew the question was coming straight from somewhere between his legs, but in that moment he couldn't think of a good answer.  
  
After all, he couldn't _avoid_ the inevitable forever, could he? God, an hour and twenty minutes of boner time could really wear a man down.  
  
“You eat lunch with that guy, right?” Daryl asked, looking down at his desk and thumbing the edge of his notebook.  
  
Holy shit, Daryl. What are you doing? What are you DOING?  
  
“Mhm.”  
  
Daryl's stomach switched over to the spin cycle, and he flicked his eyes up to the professor's, spitting out the next words before he even had the time to chicken out.

“Do you have to?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am fully aware than I am a massive asshole.


	11. Harder

It took every single ounce of Rick's self-control to walk calmly back to his office with Daryl trailing behind him. He wanted to all-out sprint, tugging Daryl along like they were two horny college kids, drunk on a Saturday night, desperate to get back to someone's dorm room so they could start undressing.  
  
But only one of them was a horny college kid and it was the middle of the damn day, so Rick had to fucking stay calm until he could shut the door.  
  
His office up a flight of stairs and down the hall, the door nestled right around the corner when you turned. Not that far at all really, but it seemed like they had trekked miles by the time Rick slipped his key into the lock, missing the hole a couple of times first with how much his hands were trembling in anticipation. When the door swung open, Daryl rushed past him inside, leaving Rick to close it.  
  
When he turned back around, Daryl was sitting casually on his desk, and if Daryl hadn't been shaking from head to toe, Rick would have sworn he wasn't nervous at all.  
  
“I just need one second,” Rick said, reaching behind himself to lock the door, not even looking back because he didn't want to take his eyes off the boy sitting there.  
  
He fired off a text to Shane, misspelling every other word so bad that even autocorrect couldn't help him.  
  
_No lunch rofsy. Extracurricular svtivities._  
  
Close enough.  
  
Leaving the phone on the file cabinet, he crossed the space between where he stood and where Daryl sat.  
  
“Are you sure?” Rick asked, because last time he'd definitely moved too fast. Hell, last time, he'd practically ambushed him. He didn't want to fuck this up twice.  
  
Daryl nodded, his breath shaking with the rest of him, and Rick leaned forward, slowly, tentatively.  
  
“Wait,” Daryl said, and Rick was so close he could feel the air behind the word ghosting across his lips.  
  
“Hmm?”

“Just... are you sure? That I'm worth all th-” 

Rick silenced him by pressing his mouth to his, deciding that showing him was much much better than telling. And when Daryl moaned softly into the kiss, Rick died just a little bit at the sound.   
  
He pulled away and stroked Daryl's bottom lip with his thumb, and then he kissed him again, this time working his tongue into the other man's mouth, letting the kiss deepen and transform into something bigger and more urgent, like a thunderstorm giving way to a tornado.  
  
Rick stepped a little closer, pressing his hips into Daryl's. He could feel the younger man's erection against his own even through layers of denim and polyester, and he couldn't resist rolling their bodies together for even a second. At that slight bit of clothed friction, Daryl broke the kiss and gasped quietly, blue eyes fluttering closed.  
  
Rick worked his hands around to the small of Daryl's back, pulling him a little closer to the edge of the desk, grinding their need together, claiming the younger man's lips again and again until Daryl was nothing but a beautiful shaking, panting mess in his arms.  
  
“Professor Grimes,” Daryl said low, voice barely above a whisper, “please.”

Rick thought about correcting him and telling him to call him by his first name, but hearing the other name on Daryl's lips was so fucking hot that he couldn't even bring himself to do it. Maybe Shane was right. Maybe he did want to play student/teacher. 

Rick set to work unbuttoning Daryl's patched-up jeans, tugging at his own with his opposite hand until both of their erections were free. He found himself glad he'd never been much of a bottom, because good God, the pure girth of Daryl's cock was impressive beyond imagination, and there was no way his body ever would've been able to handle that.   
  
He chanced a look at Daryl's face and found him examining Rick's own erection. The younger man mm'd quietly in approval, and Rick didn't have to be looking to know his cock had given a little twitch at the noise.  
  
Egged on by the sight of Daryl licking his lips, the professor wrapped his hand around both of them simultaneously, slowly rocking his hips. And when Daryl did the same, sliding his hand around the side opposite of Rick's and giving his own body a little roll, the friction was so damn delicious that Rick couldn't help but moan his name softly. It took all he had to keep it at an acceptable octave.  
  
“Jesus,” Daryl said, thrusting into both of their hands. “Fuck that feels...oh shit. No.”  
  
Without warning other than that little tiny “no,” Daryl came, cum spurting onto Rick's jacket, his fingers, and both of their cocks.   
  
“Fuck I'm sorry, I...”  
  
“Shh,” Rick said. “Just come here.”  
  
He gave Daryl another kiss, long and sensual and wanting. And then he pulled the younger man into a slightly different angle, one that allowed him to reach between Daryl's thighs and swirl some of the cum around his entrance.   
  
Rick remembered being eighteen, not that it was _that_ long ago. It wouldn't take Daryl long at all to get it back up.  
  
And sure enough, as he used the other man's cum to slide his middle finger inside, he could already see his cock hardening again.  
  
“See,” Rick said, low and deep. “Not even a problem.” Rick crooked his finger just a little, putting light pressure on Daryl's sensitive prostate. The younger man groaned softly, and Rick couldn't resist giving his own cock a nice, slow stroke.  
  
Soon.

Hot as it was, a little bit of cum wasn't going to get him far. So, dying a little at the sound Daryl made when he did, Rick pulled his finger free and walked a few paces to his file cabinet, opening the drawer that held a lot of the GSA supplies. He dug around for the kits the club used to promote safe sex—lube and a condom and a little printed set of instructions on how to properly put one on. 

He made his way back to Daryl in a flash, already tearing open the little sample of Wet with his teeth.  
  
“Let me,” Daryl said, holding out his hand before Rick could even squirt any on his fingers.  
  
Rick raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Let me while you do what you need to do,” Daryl said. “Won't take as long.”

Rick understood the beautiful impatience behind Daryl's request now, and he nodded, squirting a little lube onto Daryl's fingers. He worked his slacks off and set about getting the condom open. Briefly, he considered not wearing one so he could feel every single moment with Daryl skin-to-skin, but he hadn't been tested in a while, and as often as he preached safe sex to the kids in the GSA, it felt plain irresponsible not to roll one down onto his cock. And he was being irresponsible enough as it was right now. 

Meanwhile, Daryl sat facing him, one leg out of his jeans and drawn up onto Rick's desk so he could more easily access what he needed. And God, the sight of that beautiful creature fingering himself right there on top of his desk, stretching himself open for him... It was a wonder Rick didn't go ahead and cum too as he stroked lube onto his cock.  
  
“Professor Grimes,” Daryl said, interrupting himself with a quiet little moan as he removed his slick fingers, “'M ready.”

Rick's breath caught in his throat and he closed the distance between them. 

The first few seconds were damn near overwhelming as he pushed slowly inside of Daryl Dixon. Everything was tight almost-searing heat, and he gripped the thigh of Daryl's bare leg to tether himself to reality while he slid in to the hilt.  
  
“Holy hell,” Daryl whispered, hand flying to Rick's shoulder like he was going to topple right off this plane of existence if he didn't grab hold of something.  
  
“You alright?” Rick asked.

“Mhm. Be even better if you'd move,” Daryl said, and Rick was more than happy to oblige. He worked slow at first, letting Daryl's body acclimate itself to his. But it became clear pretty quickly in the way that he tugged at Rick's hips that Daryl didn't want slow. 

And soon Rick was thrusting into him at an almost frantic pace, everything on top of his desk shaking and rattling and slowly migrating around on the mahogany surface. His pen cup slipped off the front of the desk and crashed to the floor, shattering and sending glass and Bics all over the place. Daryl laughed, but he kept going, pushing his body toward Rick's to meet every single thrust.  
  
“Harder.”

“You are a needy little thing,” Rick said, leaning down to bite Daryl's collarbone through his shirt. 

“Please,” Daryl begged, and so Rick fucked him harder, unable to suppress his own laugh when his coffee mug fell off and broke too. God, if he destroyed everything he owned fucking Daryl Dixon, he wouldn't give the slightest shit.

“This what you want?” Rick asked, and Daryl let out a strained little whimper so unexpected that Rick couldn't help but think he'd missed something.  
  
He was sweating now. He could feel the little drops of it pooling under his hairline and running down his forehead. So without stopping, he pulled the tweed jacket off and dropped it on his desk.  
  
Daryl reached for it, balling it up and using it to lay back slightly, shifting their current angle.  
  
“Ohhh God.”  
  
Rick clamped his hand down hard on Daryl's mouth as soon as the moan left it. His brain screamed _too loud_ in alarm, and the younger man seemed to agree, because he brought both hands up to grip Rick's wrist, holding the makeshift muzzle there as he groaned and whimpered against Rick's skin.  
  
“You close?” Rick asked, because he didn't think he was going to last another minute with the way Daryl was squirming beneath him. The younger man tightened his grip and nodded vigorously, face contorted in pleasure.  
  
Waiting for the thrust that had him dangling right over the edge himself, he reached down and grabbed Daryl's cock with his other hand.  
  
Rick looked the other man in the eyes, hand still clamped over his gorgeous mouth. Trying to memorize every little twitch of Daryl's face as he got closer and closer, Rick matched the rhythm of his hips with his opposite hand.  
  
“Gonna cum for me, Mr. Dixon?”  
  
Daryl's eyes went wide and then rolled back in his head, and Rick felt the groan of his completion vibrating through the flesh of his palm. Something warm and wet soaked through his button-up, and he looked down to find little streaks of damp there on the white fabric.  
  
He was definitely going to have to sneak home and change before his evening class.  
  
But right then he didn't care, because he was buried deep inside of Daryl Dixon, right on the edge of his own finish. Daryl sat up and grabbed him by the ass, pulling him into him as hard as he physically could with those ridiculously strong arms, and that's when Rick fucking lost it. Throwing his head back and biting into his hand to stifle the sounds of his own orgasm, he came, cock twitching inside of Daryl's body with each spasm of release.  
  
At some point—he couldn't quite place when—Rick's arms wound themselves around Daryl's body, and he buried his face in the younger man's neck, breathing in his scent and peppering the warm skin there with soft little kisses.  
  
“Was it... Did I.. I mean, you came, but..”  
  
Rick laughed quietly against Daryl's neck.  
  
“Sorry. Probably ruining it by talking too much.”

“You're perfect,” Rick said. And he fucking meant it too. 

“Pfft.”

Rick pulled out and got rid of the condom before pulling off his outer shirt, using it to mop up their sweat and anything else that needed mopping seeing as it was already good and stained with Daryl's orgasm. 

“I should probably go, huh?” Daryl asked. He glanced at the clock.  
  
“Probably,” Rick said, “But I don't want you to.”

“Got a class at one,” Daryl said. Rick looked back over his shoulder. It was a little past twelve-thirty. 

“You should probably go eat then,” he said, fingertips stroking Daryl's shaggy hair.  
  
“Probably,” Daryl said. “But I don't want to.”  
  
Nodding, Rick hopped up onto his desk and rearranged the tweed jacket so they could share it as a makeshift pillow. The hard wood wasn't the most comfortable thing, but it worked for the moment, and Daryl didn't seem to mind at all.   
  
Rick had to coax the younger man into curling his body against his, but when he did, Daryl let out a content little sigh at the closeness.  
  
“Do you have any idea how damn adorable you are?” Rick asked, thumb rubbing Daryl's arm through his plaid shirt. He felt a little twinge of regret at not getting Daryl completely naked, but they had both been so needy. And there would be plenty of time to explore every single inch of the other man if Rick had his way. “Been killing me since the first day of class.”  
  
“Nah,” Daryl said. “But you... you're...”

“Hmm?”

“Never mind.”

“No, please,” Rick said. “You have no idea how much I want to hear whatever it was you were about to say.”

“Never known a man who could fuck me up like you do just by existing.”

And it was such a weird way of putting it, but Rick didn't mind at all. They fell quiet for a long while, and the professor was more than content to lose himself in space and time as he memorized the soft cadence of Daryl's breathing. 

“So, I know this ain't really the time probably,” Daryl said, finally interrupting the quiet, “but Maggie said I missed you handing the tests back.”  
  
“Eighty six,” Rick said.  
  
“So it was an eighty four, or it will be an eighty eight?”

Rick smiled and kissed the top of Daryl's head.  
  
“Was an eighty four.”   
  
“Ain't bad though,” Daryl said.  
  
“Not bad at all. Not in my class.”

“Hard ass,” Daryl grumbled, and Rick laughed. 

“Don't go treatin' me special just on account of us fuckin,” Daryl said. “I'll earn it on my own.”

“Then you'd better start coming to class,” Rick quipped. “I normally would've docked you points when I realized you weren't there, but seeing as it was my fault...”

“Reckon I'll come now,” Daryl said. “'Sides, the professor's kinda cute.”  
  
“Is he now?”

“Mhm,” Daryl said, “And a voice like a honeycomb.”   
  
Rick smiled and nuzzled into his hair. 

“Speaking of getting to class,” the professor said, looking up at the clock on the wall, “Wouldn't be real responsible of me to let you stay here when I know you've got one.”  
  
“Kickin me out?” Daryl looked up at him, pouting just a little.

“I'll make you a deal,” Rick said. “You go to class now, and I'll pick you up outside your dorm at eight.”

“And take me where?” Daryl asked, already sitting up and grabbing for his things.

“I guess you'll just have to wait and see, Daryl.”

“You askin me out, Professor Grimes?” Daryl asked, and Rick felt a delicious set goosebumps erupt across his skin. At some point, he was going to have to get Daryl into the habit of calling him by his first name, but he could let it go for one day, right?

“I guess I am.”  
  
Daryl pulled his bookbag straps onto his arms.  
  
“Guess I'll see you at eight then,” he said. And then he was gone, and even though Rick had to sneak out to his car in an undershirt with his saddle bag full of cum-soaked clothes, full-on walk-of-shame style, he couldn't stop smiling the whole damn way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Professor and the Duckling: a Love story.  
> It brings me such joy to have finally reached the sex-having portion of this story. Do all the bang, my precious little babies.


	12. Dressed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long (by this story's standards at least) wait. Texas is a mess right now, and my power was out for a day and a half. I'm alright though.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck oh fuck.  
  
Daryl should have gone to class. He really should have, but as soon as he left the professor's office, he broke into an all-out sprint toward the library instead, praying that Maggie was there even though he was pretty sure she had a class too right then.  
  
But he needed her. He had just fucked Professor Grimes in his office. He couldn't deal with the burden of all that shit on his own.   
  
He could still feel little twinges of what he'd just done—a dull, almost imperceptible ache inside of him, a little hint of a bruise on his collarbone if he moved his right arm just so. It was like Professor Grimes had written his name all over his body in invisible ink, and as beautiful as the words felt, Daryl couldn't decide if the paper was alive or dead. Fuck.   
  
He skidded into the library and forced himself to slow down to a brisk walk, jeans swishing together as he made his way quickly to his and Maggie's usual section on the second floor. He took the stairs two at a time.  
  
Please be there. Please be there.  
  
But the second floor was all-but deserted, a lone woman sitting in the corner with a small stack of books and a coffee.  
  
His last potential anchor to sanity gone, he could feel it coming on, and he was powerless to stop it—the way his breathing went sideways, the way his hands got warm, the way his chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself.  
  
Oh God.  
  
Daryl eased himself to the floor next to the nearest table, eyes wide and hot.  
  
Oh God.  
  
“Hey...”  
  
Somewhere in his mind, he knew the woman had spoken and that her footsteps were quickly approaching. But the other part of his mind unhinged its jaw and swallowed all that down whole.   
  
“Hey.”  
  
Hands on him again. He looked up and saw the professor's blue eyes, staring down at him warmly, telling him to breathe. But no, it wasn't him. It was that woman.  
  
“In through your nose, out through your mouth,” she said. “Nice and slow.” She had her hands lightly on his shoulders, more like she was trying to stabilize him physically than anything else. An anchor. Just what he needed.   
  
Slowly, Daryl calmed down. And then he hated himself, because this random stranger had just seen him fall to pieces, and over what? Over finally getting what he wanted? What the actual fuck was wrong with him?  
  
“Are you alright?” she asked softly.

“Yeah,” Daryl said, pulling away from her. “I don't even know why I...” He looked over at the table she'd been at. "Sorry for interruptin your studyin."

She looked too old to be a college student, but people were going back to school all over the place these days, so maybe it was something like that.

“You didn't interrupt anything,” she said. “Just a paper I've been working on for longer than you've probably been alive. Nothing that can't stand being stopped.”

“Yeah.” Daryl pulled himself off the carpet using the table next to him. 

“So, how long have you been having panic attacks?” she asked after he'd finally stood up.   
  
There were those damn words again: panic attacks.  
  
“I don't have panic attacks,” Daryl insisted, and he was kind of really tired of having to tell people that, for fuck's sake.

“I'm pretty sure you do.” There was an air of finality to her voice when she said it, like a teacher correcting a student who stubbornly insists that he's correct when he isn't. 

Daryl started to open his mouth to argue. This woman didn't fucking know him from Adam. How dare she try to tell him what he did or didn't have.  
  
But she spoke again before he could.  
  
“I'm Dr. Carol Kemp,” she said, offering him a card, “the university psychiatrist.”

Daryl took the card from her and looked it over. Sure enough, that's what it said.   
  
“I don't have panic attacks.”

“Mhm. So you don't have trouble breathing when you're like that? Tightness in your chest? Sweating? Blurred vision? Dizziness? Don't feel like maybe you're somewhere other than here? No general feeling of, well, panic?”

“Not... I don't have...” God, he did have an awful lot of those though... 

She pulled a rather large phone out of her pocket and fiddled around with it for a minute. 

“Do you have class Monday at nine?” she asked, looking up from the screen. 

“No...”

“Well, buttercup, you think about whether or not you actually enjoy feeling that way, and I'll keep it open for you. Counseling center is on the 4th floor of the student center.” 

“Right,” Daryl said. And then he got the hell out of there before he had another damn definitely-not-a-fucking-panic-attack.

* * *

Rick spent a good half hour showering after he got home, unable to resist rubbing one out to the thought of banging Daryl Dixon in his office. Shit, that had really really happened. He pinched himself one more time just to be sure. 

Toweling himself off, he checked his phone, remembering that he hadn't looked at it since before.    
  
_ATTA FUCKING BOY!!_  
  
Rick rolled his eyes, smiling. God, what would he do without Shane?  
  
He knew his buddy, uninterested as he was in the mechanics of screwing another man, was dying to hear every single detail (or at least the CliffsNotes version). And Rick thought about giving him a call, but right then he had more pressing matters to attend to.  
  
He had to get ready all over again, and he had to figure out a fucking date for him and Daryl—one that the other man would feel comfortable on, one that would hopefully give way to so many more.  
  
Fuck, and he had no damn idea. Picking up his phone, he called the only person he could think of who might be able to help.  
  
“Hello, stranger," came the voice on the other night. 

“Lori, I need you.”

“Oh, how many times have I wanted to hear you say that, Rick Grimes?” Her voice was light and teasing.

“Still gay, Lore,” he said, and she sighed. 

“Still such a shame,” she said. “What do you need?”

“Asked my dream boy out on a date and have no idea what to do with him.” Well, that wasn't entirely true. Rick had plenty of ideas about what to do with Daryl, but none them qualified as a date. 

“I'll be right there.”

While he waited, Rick got dressed. As torturous as it had been, Rick felt a little grateful now that Daryl had skipped his classes last week, because that meant the other man had yet to see his go-to knockout outfit. Slacks, shirt, vest, tie. Deadly as Dillinger. Ka-fucking-pow. 

“That's not even fair,” Lori said when he answered the door. “Coulda waited til after I left to pull all that on.”

Rick let her in.

“So who's this boy?”

Rick told her all about him, from his shaggy dishwater blonde hair to every bulge and curve of his biceps, to the way his waist had to be at least half the size of his shoulders. And then he went on about how he stumbled over his words when he was nervous (which was often), about how precious he was without even knowing it, about how lucky Rick was just to have gotten through all the armor Daryl kept up around himself. He saved the part about how they met for last. 

“Rick Bartholomew Grimes!” she said, eyes a little wide. “You are not gonna fool around with a student.”

“Too late for that, Lori,” he said, blushing just a little. “And now I've got a date with him and no idea what to do.”

“You could take him to that Italian place... Mama Rosetti's over in Charlotte.”

“Too much,” Rick said. “He'd be uncomfortable. Would probably go out of his mind wanting to get out of there.”  
  
Lori went quiet for a while, pacing the floor of his living room and playing with her bottom half of her face the way she did when she was thinking. 

“What about, you know, what you did with me?” she asked when she finally stilled. 

Rick looked down at the floor. He'd taken her on a date once, a long time ago in the second semester of his own freshman year before he had finally realized that he was really and truly free from the judging eyes of the people back home. She had already fallen for him by then, and if he had known it, maybe he never would have asked her out... But he did, and it had killed her when he'd finally come clean.

“Haven't done that with anyone since,” Rick said. It had always felt a little like he'd be stomping on the pieces of Lori's broken heart if he did. 

But he supposed it had mended by now. After all, she had a husband—some business executive named Carl. And a son too, Carl Jr.  
  
“Don't know why,” she said. “Was like getting to see the inside of your soul. I don't know how serious you are about this boy, but if you think you are, it's what you should do.”  
  
Rick nodded. It would make for a late night, but he had Thursdays off until his office hours in the late afternoon, and Daryl could always sleep in the car on the drive. God, sleeping Daryl... That would probably be a damn precious sight. 

“Good luck,” she said. “And don't be a damn stranger. I better get to meet this guy if you manage to reel him in.”

“Reckon he's already on the line, Lori,” Rick said. “And I'll come by sometime real soon.”

They said their good-byes, and then Lori left him to finish getting ready. Which was good, because now he had some definite planning to do.

* * *

Daryl walked briskly back to his dorm, shooting off a stream of vague texts to Maggie on the way.  
  
_-Need 2 talk rite fucking now holy aiisjfoj Maggie_  
_-Maaaagggiiieeeeeeee_  
_-Just come 2 my dorm when u can plz hurry_  
  
Phone still in his hand, Daryl threw open the door to his room a little too enthusiastically, and Glenn jumped about two feet off of his desk chair.  
  
“Dude!” Glenn had snatched up ballpoint pen and was gripping it tightly like he was ready to stab it right into the heart of an attacker.  
  
“Sorry,” Daryl said. “Just real wired right now.”

“Wh-” 

But Glenn didn't have a chance to ask, because Maggie came barreling in without even knocking, sending Daryl flying straight into the wall.  
  
“DUDE!”

“I ain't a dude, Glenn Rhee.” 

“Little help here...”  
  
Daryl had fallen half-inside of Glenn's laundry hamper, the collapsible walls shifting and swallowing up half his body so that he was sitting in it, legs hanging out, and one arm locked tightly against his side.  
  
Maggie and Glenn both lost it, dissolving into fits of laughter as he wiggled around.  
  
“Okay, but I'm taking a picture first just in case you ever piss me off.”

“Maggie, for fuck's sake.” Daryl blinked at the flash of her phone, glaring at her before she reached down and helped him up, still laughing. 

“So, I just got out of class. Have about fifty texts from you. What's going on?”  
  
“Nothing,” Daryl said, pulling his shirt free from the Velcro pocket on a pair of Glenn's cargo shorts. He glanced at his roommate, then looked back at Maggie. “I just need to talk, but...”

“I have work anyway,” Glenn said, taking the hint. He put on his hat with the little pizza logo on the front and picked up his keys. “But, um, Maggie, I got the Last of Us if you, uh...”

“The what?” Maggie asked.

“It's a zombie game,” Glenn said. Daryl stole a sly glance at his best friend and found her eyes turning bright with excitement. Good going, Glenn. Who knew the way to beautiful farm girl Maggie Greene's heart was through the violent pixelated murder of the undead? 

“Sunday?” she asked. 

“Yeah! I mean.. sure if that's.. That's fine.”  
  
Smooth.

“Great. See you then.”

Glenn nodded and left, and Daryl locked the door tight before turning around to her.  
   
“So what's wrong?” she asked. 

“I need help. I need to talk. I don't know what to wear. We, me and Rick, we...”

“Daryl.” Maggie put her hand on his shoulder. “First of all, breathe. What happened after I left?”

“I don't know why I did it, but...”

“Did what?”

Daryl glanced back at the door and pulled Maggie deeper into the room, all the way to the corner of his side, and then he looked around again, like someone had somehow slipped in when he wasn't looking and followed them. 

“I had sex with him,” he whispered.

Maggie's mouth opened like she wanted to scream in surprise, but nothing came out. Daryl stared at her, watched her eyes steadily widen. 

“You... and the Professor... you..”

“On his desk.”

Maggie let out a little yelp, her hands flailing around in front of her chest. Her mouth opened and closed several times, and every now and then she'd let out a little squeak. 

“Daryl!” she said finally, her voice somewhere between a whisper and a squeal.  
  
“I don't know why. I just... he was there and I was so...”

“Horny?”

“Maggie!”

“How was it? How big is... no not that, sorry.” Maggie plopped down onto Daryl's bed. “Do his thighs look that good without pants?”

“It was...” Daryl fidgeted. “It was good.”

“Daaarylll,” Maggie whined. “You've got to give me better than just 'good.'”

“It was really good?” Daryl said, and Maggie sighed. 

“How did it start?” she asked, pulling her feet up and resting them on the small exposed part of the bed frame below the mattress.

“I basically asked for it and we, uh, went back to his office and he kissed me and... Oh shit, Maggie, that kiss...”

"Go on...” She scooted a little closer to the edge of the mattress, bouncing a little. 

Daryl let her lead the conversation until she had wrenched every detail out of him. Well, almost every detail. He might've left out the bit where came the first time, because, well, that was embarrassing.  
  
“I can't believe it actually happened,” she breathed.  
  
You and me both, sister.   
  
“Me neither, but I need your help,” Daryl said, checking the clock on his phone. He had a little under six hours before he had to be out front.  
  
“With what?”  
  
“He's picking me up at eight and I...” Daryl looked down. The professor hadn't seemed to have any problem with his patched up jeans or his worn flannel, but this was a _date._  
  
“When's your birthday?”

“What? Uh, January 10th, why?” 

“No, that won't work. But c'mon anyway,” she said, tugging him toward the door.  
  
"What?"  
  
“I'm taking you shopping. Just don't expect anything for Christmas.”

“Maggie, I can't let you-”

“Shut your mouth,” she said. “Friends take care of each other. Besides, I've kind of been dying to do a makeover since I met you. Just let me have this one.” 

Daryl squinted at her. He was torn between pride and wanting to look good tonight. And what did a makeover entail exactly? He wasn't so sure about this...  
  
“Please please please?” she begged, giving him a face full of big hazel puppy dog eyes. 

“Fine, but if you think you're gonna force me to get my nails done or somethin...”

“I'll go easy on you,” she said, already breaking into a smile, “this time.”

* * *

“Jesus, Maggie, how many more do I have to try on?” Easy on me, my ass. 

“As many as it takes, Daryl. Let me see.”

Daryl half-hid his face and walked out in the tight black button-up Maggie had forced on him. She shook her head. Daryl groaned.  
  
“How long have we even been here?” he asked. Hell, it had to be nearing eight now, right?    
  
“An hour.”

“Oh God.”

“Was that the last one? Trade me.” She held out another pile of clothes. Jesus, how could one store even have this many clothes? Daryl took them, praying that whatever she had in mind for him was somewhere within this pile. Otherwise he was going to claw his way up over the false wall of the changing room and haul ass to safety, date be damned.

The next two he put on were too tight across his shoulders to even dream of buttoning them. With one of them on and open, he sat down on the bench in the changing room and took a deep breath. Jesus, people actually enjoyed this shopping shit too. Fucking masochists.   
  
“Have you tried the black one on yet?”

Daryl shifted the pile around until he found something black. It was a simple shirt, long sleeve. Hell, it didn't even have any buttons. That was more like it. 

He pulled the other shirt off and slipped it on, stepping out of the changing room and saying a little prayer in his head that this would be the end of the ordeal.

“This the right black one?” he asked.  
  
“Spin.”  
  
Looking around first to make sure no one would see him, Daryl did an awkward little twirl for her.  
  
“Well, thanks in advance,” she said after he finished his rotation.    
  
“Hmm?”

“For us not having class Friday. You're going to kill him.”

“Stop. Are we done here?” Please, please. Oh sweet Jesus, Lord of the Flies, please. 

“Don't be silly,” Maggie said. “You still need pants.”

Daryl very nearly cried. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys just go ahead and imagine that Daryl's new shirt is THE shirt that Norman always wears. I don't even have to tell you which one. Maggie was right though... Rick is a goner. :-p
> 
> Also, Carol... I can't really think of a place for her backstory, because I don't think it's really got a place in Rick/Daryl's story, and I don't think it's information she would share with Daryl even if he does decide to go see her... 
> 
> Kemp is the maiden name I've given her. It's a name that supposedly means "champion" and "warrior" so I thought it was fitting. In this universe, Carol left Ed a lot earlier in life and, after having a great therapist who helped her deal with all those years of abuse, she went back to school so she could help people as well. She also worked multiple jobs and raised Sophia while obtaining her degree. While she doesn't blow anything up in this world (except on the 4th of July), she's her own brand of strong, independent, and self-assured. So, just a little side-info for those who want it. 
> 
> Also, I made Daryl a Capricorn because we are obviously the superior star sign. lol


	13. Obsession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We currently have a little inbound fluff, so if you would all please fasten your seatbelts and make sure your seats are in their upright and locked positions...

Daryl sat outside Monroe Hall on the bench, fidgeting in his new clothes. Despite her promises to go easy on him, Daryl had a new pair of crisp denim jeans, a new shirt, and a new haircut. His sandy blond locks had been sheered down from a wild medium-length mess, and now his hair was short on top, with just a little length on the sides that Maggie insisted framed his face perfectly.  
  
He'd stopped her when she tried to buy him new boots, insisting that his own were just fine. But he had let her take a scrub brush to them while he dressed, cleaning them of dirt and grease so that they almost looked as new as everything else currently on his body.  
  
He checked his phone again. He only had five more minutes if Rick was on time, if Daryl didn't crawl right out of his skin by then. At least the husk he'd left behind would be well-dressed.  
  
Another girl walked by, raking her eyes over him as she passed. God, could she tell? Could they all see that underneath these clothes he was still trash? Probably. You can slap a bow on garbage all you want, but it still stinks like shit.  
  
He looked down. Three more minutes (hopefully), and then at least he'd only have one person looking at him.

* * *

Rick had taken his other car just so it would be less conspicuous when he picked Daryl up. God, he always felt so pretentious saying that: _other car_. Like he was some well-to-do Gatsby type who had multiple cars and more money than he knew what to do with.  
  
Truth was that his grandpa had left him his old '67 Mustang about a year ago. The old man had loved that car to pieces, and he'd made damn sure it would go to someone in the family who would take care of it.  
  
Rick hardly ever drove it, and he had every intention of switching back to his Camry before he and Daryl took off tonight, but he didn't want to pick a student up outside the dorms in something that half the staff knew belonged to him.  
  
When he pulled up, at exactly one minute past eight, it took him a second to find Daryl. He was so used to looking for faded plaid and shaggy hair, that he almost didn't recognize the man on the bench. But there was no mistaking that Y-shaped body or the arms squeezed into a black shirt so tight it should have damn well been illegal.  
  
Dear Lord above, I don't know what you were thinking the day you made Daryl Dixon, but thank you.  
  
He rolled the car up to the curb right beside the bench and reached over to tap on the passenger-side window. Daryl approached cautiously, glancing around, and then he pulled open the door, flicking his eyes up and down Rick once before getting in.   
  
“What year is this?” he asked.

“2015,” Rick answered absentmindedly, hand already twitching on the gearshift with how much he wanted to reach over and touch those arms through that black fabric. 

“I meant the car.”  
  
Oh shit. Right. The car. 

“Sixty-seven.”

"Nice. Care if I check out the engine when we stop?”

“Go right ahead. Gonna stop by my place on the way to change out cars anyway.”  
  
“Whats wrong with this one?” Daryl asked, running his hand over the dash reverently.

“The gas mileage mostly. I hope you don't mind a bit of a road trip. I figured you could sleep on the way back if you needed to.”

“Where are we going?” Daryl asked.

“East. It's a surprise.”

“Not gonna take me out in the woods and murder me, are you?”

“If I take you out in the woods to do something illicit, it'll be a lot sexier than murder. Promise.”

“In that case, can we stay in this car?”

“You got a thing for cars?” Rick asked. He briefly imagined pulling over onto some deserted side road and railing Daryl right on the hood of the Mustang. Damn would his granddaddy probably come back to haunt him if he did that. 

“I'm in the Auto Tech program,” Daryl said. “Tellin me you ain't noticed all the grease under my nails?”

“Truth be told, I've been too distracted by the upper half of your arms to have noticed yet.” Rick looked over and found Daryl blushing and trying to fight back a little smile. “Which is a shame now that I look, because you have very nice hands.”

He took his own off the gearstick and reached over, running his fingertips over Daryl's knuckles before sliding them between, intertwining their fingers and moving both of their hands together back on top of the shifter. Daryl let him do it without even the slightest twitch of a fight, and Rick couldn't help but feel like that was a victory as they sped quietly through the night. 

He pulled up in his driveway just a few minutes later. Daryl immediately popped open the hood of the Mustang, his eyes caressing every visible part of the engine like he was making love to it through sight alone.  
  
Damn, that shouldn't be so fucking hot, should it?  
  
“You ever need anything done on this car, I wanna do it,” Daryl said, shutting the hood.  
  
Rick had a brief mental image of Daryl sweating in his driveway, jumpsuit tied off around his waist with nothing on top but a thin white tank top. He agreed almost immediately.

“Gonna be a bit of a ride if you need to use the facilities or anything,” Rick said. 

“Nah, I'm good.”  
  
“In that case...” Rick gestured toward his everyday car, a relatively new dark blue Camry. They walked to it side-by-side. 

* * *

Daryl climbed into the car, sinking back against the fabric of the seat. It smelled like something vaguely familiar, and it took him a second to realize that the smell was Professor Grimes—the soap he used, some other thing that smelled kind of like strawberries, a very subtle underlying natural musk.  
  
He fought the urge to mmm quietly.  
  
It wasn't the first time that night he'd fought that urge either. God, that outfit had to be the one Maggie meant. He'd figured the professor would look good in anything, but that combo was fucking criminal. And damn unfair.  
  
A road trip and he was supposed to hold himself together with _that_ next to him?  
  
“You can turn on the radio if you want. Got XM.”

“What do you like?”

“Whatever you like. I'm trying to get to know you here.”

Daryl took a minute figuring out how to work the controls, and then he settled on a classic rock station currently playing “Desperado” by The Eagles. 

Rick started laughing out loud. And God, did Daryl want to know why, because he was torn between wondering if Rick was laughing at him and never ever wanting that sound to stop even if it was at his expense.  
  
“What?” Daryl asked. 

“Nothing. Just something that happened once when I'd had about one bottle of wine too many.”

“Mm.”

They drove on quietly for a while, the radio floating between Queen and AC/DC, between Ozzy and Bon Jovi. 

At some point, Rick found his hand again, quietly claiming it with his own like it had been his all along.  
  
They stopped at a gas station in some place called Tarboro, at which point Rick leaned over and kissed him so calmly and sensually that Daryl was pretty sure he was ready to go ahead and move on to the bit that usually happened after a date had ended. Hell, how important could that middle bit be anyway really?  
  
But Rick pulled away from him and topped off the gas tank while Daryl adjusted his jeans, and that had been that. 

More driving, more music—The Rolling Stones and Def Leppard and Queensryche and Styx.  
  
At some point, Daryl fell asleep, nodding off against the window with his hand still wrapped warmly up in the professor's.  
  
“Hey,” Rick said, nudging him awake. Daryl didn't know how long he'd slept, but it had been long enough to have a dream about shooting zombies with a crossbow side-by-side with the professor. In the dream, Rick had been looking a little haggard, face half-hidden behind a beard that would've made even Grizzly Adams a little jealous.   
  
Sleepily, Daryl looked over at him, gorgeous clean-shaven face and all. Still a little groggy, he reached over and touched the other man's smooth chin. The professor smiled softly.  
  
“We're here.”

Daryl looked out the windows of the car. They appeared to be pulled over the side of a small road. Around them, there was seemingly nothing but trees. 

“You sure you're not fixin to murder me, Professor Grimes?”

“C'mon, darlin."

Daryl got out of the car, shaking away sleep just a little bit.  
  
“Where are we?”

“As far as we can get without a little walk.”

“That's not what I...” But Rick was already holding his hand out toward him. And Daryl had a feeling that he would follow this man anywhere. So he took it. 

They ended up on a beach. Even in the moonlight, Daryl could see the waves gently rolling with soft white peaks.  
  
“Ain't never seen the ocean before,” he said. And he kind of regretted that it was dark.  
  
“I'll have to take you to a proper beach sometime then.”  
  
“What's wrong with this one?”

“Just that this is more of a cove than open ocean. If you've never seen it, you should see it wide open, all bright and blue for miles and miles.”

“Why are we here then?” Daryl asked. “If it ain't to show me the ocean... And where is here exactly?”

“Manteo, North Carolina,” Rick said. “And this beach and maybe the ocean right there, that's the best guess currently as to where the Roanoke colony was.”

“I thought Roanoke was in Virginia?”

“Yeah, but not the colony. The colony was somewhere here on Roanoke Island.”

“That's why we're here then? The colony?”

Rick looked at him, nodding. And then he planted his butt right in the sand, slacks and all. 

“Ever had an obsession, Daryl?”

Daryl joined him, giving the ground a once-over before he did, because Maggie would kill him if he ruined these jeans, even for as good of a reason as sitting on a beach with a gorgeous man under the moonlight. Jesus, when had he started living in a damn Nicholas Sparks novel? 

“Ain't been able to keep my hands off an engine for more than few days since I was old enough to hold a wrench. That count?”

“Yeah, I reckon it does.” Rick rested his knee against his, and for once, Daryl's blood didn't immediately rise to a rapid boil. Instead, there was something else, some deeper feeling that wound itself through his chest and made him want to move just a little closer. But he stayed still. 

“This is yours then?” Daryl asked. "Your obsession?"  
  
“I probably heard about it sooner, but the first time I remember was in seventh grade history class. This whole settlement of people that just disappeared. Read every book the local library had on it, spent hours on the internet reading theories...”  
  
“They had internet when you were that age?”  
  
Rick gave him a little nudge with his elbow.  
  
“I ain't that old,” he said.

“That how you got into history?” Daryl asked. “This?” He pointed out at the seemingly clean beach and found himself wondering too, just a little, what might lie underneath. 

“I think so,” Rick said. “It was a focal point, and I branched out from there, learned about other lost cities and historical mysteries. Obsession. Passion, I don't really know. But here I am.”

“A real hard ass with a chili pepper on Rate My Professor. Life is funny, huh?”

Rick snorted. 

“I like the haircut,” he said, reaching out to run his fingers through it.  
  
“Maggie's fault.”

“Thank her for me,” he said, and his hand slipped around to the back of Daryl's neck, tugging him into a kiss. And damn if Daryl thought anyone would ever kiss him on a beach, let alone in the middle of the night.  
  
“How come you went the professor route instead of doing some Indiana Jones shit?” Daryl asked, forehead resting against gently against Rick's.  
  
“Because once upon a time, I was inspired.”

Daryl contemplated it for a minute, stole another little kiss while the cogs of his brain slowly turned. He thought he understood, decided to chance being wrong just this once, because he could tell Rick didn't want to just tell him. He wanted him to get it, wanted him to get _him_. 

“You hoped you could inspire someone else...”  
  
And Daryl figured he had to have been right, because the professor's response was a crushing kiss, arms snaking around him and pulling him in tight like what he wanted most in the world was for the two of them to just melt right together. And after they pulled apart, Daryl leaned against him, letting him hold him there on the deserted beach.  
  
“I probably should've saved this for the second date,” Rick said. “Dragging you all the way up here on a week night.”

“Probably,” Daryl said. “But I'm glad you didn't.”

And he meant it. Because truth be told, he'd never been a real date before, one that came with the hope of being the first of many and not just a means to an end. Sure, he'd taken girls out to satisfy his brother's constant chatter about “getting laid,” and he'd been out with guys a few times. But they'd always fucked him and then walked away before his brother or his dad could get their hands on them, or before someone found out they'd been rolling around with something from _that_ part of town.  
  
But this was different. This was special, and just the mention of a potential second date had him feeling something strange and different and maybe a little scary but maybe not so bad either. Daryl let the world melt away into nothing but the sounds of gently churning water and the soft steady breathing of the person next to him.   
  
“I should probably get you home,” the professor said, and as the other man's shoulder shifted beneath him, Daryl wasn't quite sure that he hadn't dozed off again for a minute.  
  
He let the professor help him up off the sand, both of them dusting off before trekking back to the Camry and heading home.  
  
And long drive or not, no matter how tired he might be tomorrow, Daryl wouldn't have traded the night for a single damn thing in the entire known universe.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our precious little duckling Daryl's new hair is somewhere between Season 3 Daryl and Saints 2 Murph. 
> 
> I've set the university somewhere in North Carolina, a little east of Charlotte. Shane and Rick chose it back in the day because it was away from home, but still close enough to drive to if need be. Of course, they hadn't really expected to end up there after graduation, but they did. Incidentally, far but close is sort of the reason Daryl chose it as well.


	14. Ozone

Rick had looked over a few miles back into mainland North Carolina to find Daryl asleep, his face smooth and soft and peaceful. He had a strong urge to pull over and find something to tuck under his head, had an even stronger urge to reach over and run his fingers through the younger man's hair. But he didn't want to disturb the calm that had settled on his features.  
  
Instead, he reached down and turned the radio over to a little folksy indie station, something softer for the still of the night, and he drove on, only stopping for gas and the occasional cup of coffee on the way.  
  
Daryl didn't wake up until they were in Rick's driveway, and even then it was only because Rick had finally let his fingers card through those sandy blonde locks, slowly petting his lover awake.  
  
“Hey,” Rick said, “we're here. Need to switch cars again.”

He probably could've dropped Daryl off at this hour without notice, but the risk wasn't worth it when it wasn't necessary. 

“Nuh uh,” Daryl said softly, snuggling back into the seat.  
  
“Daryl..”  
  
“Can't I just sleep here?” he asked, not even opening his eyes.

“In the car?” Rick asked. “Your neck won't be too happy with you in the morning.” Daryl groaned and reached for the handle, falling out of the car more than anything, but staying on his feet nonetheless. He found Rick as soon as he got around the vehicle, hanging onto him like he could somehow transform himself into a bed right there in the driveway. 

“Can I stay here?” he mumbled, lips brushing against Rick's neck when he talked. And it all came out more like one word rather than four—canistayhere.

“Sure, okay,” Rick said, already leading Daryl toward the door, because how could he say no to him like this? He unlocked the door a little clumsily with his left hand, the other helping to hold up the younger man who seemed to be legitimately sleeping standing up on his porch. 

“You smell like strawberries,” Daryl muttered, nuzzling his nose a little against Rick's neck.

He had to mean the faint fruity smell of the wax Rick used for his hair, some natural-made thing he always bought at the local farmer's market when it rolled in every third weekend of the month. It left his hair relatively soft to the touch in a way that gel wouldn't, and he definitely preferred that as much as he had a habit of running his own fingers through it. 

“Where you wanna sleep, darlin?” Rick asked softly, when he'd finally managed to lead the sleepy little puppy of a man over the threshold.  
  
And with his inhibitions likely completely swallowed up by drowsiness, Daryl didn't hesitate to answer.  
  
“With you,” he said softly. And he didn't fidget like he normally would, nor did he rush to apologize after.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Somehow, Rick managed to get him up the stairs, letting him almost fall up them without letting him fall at all. Daryl tumbled back onto his bed, a sleepy smile spread over his face, snuggling down into the pillows and inhaling, whatever smell he found there making him smile a little wider.  
  
Rick untied his boots for him and slid them off, because he had a feeling if he didn't they were staying on all night. He had a brief inkling to slip Daryl's jeans off so he'd be a little more comfortable, but as soon as the boots were gone, Daryl curled into a little ball, assuming a near-perfect little spoon position that made Rick's chest give an aching little throb.  
  
He hurriedly undressed himself, laying down in his undershirt and his black boxer briefs and curling one arm around the younger man whose own hair just smelled clean. He leaned around and planted a kiss on Daryl's temple, and then he let his head fall onto the pillow.  
  
He fell asleep to the sound of Daryl breathing softly next to him, and spent the next few hours night dreaming about beaches and lost treasures.

* * *

Daryl woke up to a strange mix of feelings. Everything around him, from the turquoise curtains to the soft cream colors walls, was unfamiliar and confusing, but beyond that he felt oddly safe and warm and... _home_.  
  
There was an old-timey alarm clock that looked legitimately antique, sitting casually on the night stand, hands pointed at twelve past nine. And he could hear someone breathing behind him, could feel the soft weight of an arm draped over his middle.  
  
It all came tumbling back to him.  
  
Rick. A beach on an an island. Soft kisses and Daryl too tired to want to do anything but sleep, begging him to stay.  
  
He shifted just a little, taking note of every point of contact between the body behind him and his own. He could feel Rick's knees molded into the crook behind his. He could feel his stomach pressed against his back. Could feel his breath softly ghosting across his neck like a pleasant summer breeze.  
  
He had an hour before he probably needed to be back on campus, but fuck if he had any intention of moving. Hell, he could do the math in that class blindfolded anyway.  
  
He stayed there, still other than the little glances he chanced over his own shoulder, until the morning urge to find a bathroom overwhelmed him and he reluctantly crawled out of bed and padded over to the door, curiously and quietly moving down the hall until he found one.  
  
He returned a minute or so later, finding Rick in the same position, arm out over the mattress like it was just waiting for him to crawl back underneath it. The professor's mouth had fallen open in his sleep, and there was just a little line of drool leaking onto the pillow. Daryl smiled at the perfect imperfection of that one little flaw before crawling back into the bed, this time face-to-face with the older man.  
  
Rick stirred.  
  
“Mr. Dixon,” he murmured, and Daryl wasn't quite sure if he was talking to him or some other version of himself in a dream.  
  
“Professor Grimes,” Daryl said softly, probing, testing.  
  
“Mmm,” Rick moaned, the sound something so purely sexual in the softness of the morning that, no, he definitely could not be awake. “Love it when you call me that.”

Daryl's eyebrow went up a little. That was good to know. 

He brought his hand up, fingertips almost brushing the other man's lips, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He wasn't sure if it was nerves or not being sure how late they'd gotten in last night, but he let his fingers linger there, almost touching, but never quite closing the gap.

* * *

Rick woke up in the middle of the ocean. That's what it felt like anyway when he found Daryl's eyes parallel to his own, wide open and a deep sea blue.  
  
“Morning,” he mumbled, leaning forward to press a kiss to Daryl's lips without a second thought, like it was the most natural thing in the world, like they'd been waking up next to each other for years.  
  
“Morning,” he said.  
  
“Hope you haven't been up long,” Rick said, grasping for his phone where he'd left it under his pillow. It was nearly noon.

“Nah,” Daryl said, and it felt like a lie, but a pretty damn innocent one. 

“Shit. Did you have class this morning?”

“Yeah.”

“Daryl,” Rick breathed, sitting up. “You could've woken me up.”

“Just a math class,” Daryl said, “No test today, and it's shit even my brother could do, which is sayin something.”

“How old is your brother?” Rick asked, expecting the answer to be something close to Lori's kid, maybe a little older. 

“Twenty-four,” Daryl said. Oh.  
  
“Not big on math then?”

“Switch the vowel there, and maybe.”

It took Rick's sleep-addled brain a second to get the implication of what he was saying, but he got there. So his brother liked to party with things a little stronger than alcohol? That always ended well.

“He go to school?” Rick asked, though he had a feeling he already knew the answer.

“Nah. Been in prison since he was a hair past eighteen. Up to me to bring honor to the family name and all that bullshit.”

“Lot of pressure.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I just wanted to be in a garage. Didn't care nothin about a fancy degree. Would've been fine letting Joe down at the shop finish up teachin me, pay me under the table. Or maybe findin me a community college. But dad, he...”

“Four-year degree will open a lot more doors to you,” Rick said, though it didn't really feel like the right thing to say. What he really meant was... That sucks but I'm glad you showed up in my history class. So why hadn't he said that instead? 

“So I hear,” Daryl said, and then he abruptly changed the subject. “You talk in your sleep.”

Rick tried to rake his mind back through his dreams last night. He remembered something about him and Shane fighting a giant seahorse with Nerf guns. Something else too... It was there right on the edge of his memory, and then he found the single thought that accessed the dream, and it all came tumbling back to him. 

 _Daryl leaned over the glass display case of Rick's favorite exhibit at the local history museum, spread wide open and waiting for him._  
  
_“Mr. Dixon.” Rick had taken his place behind him, admiring the pale skin of his back as he slipped in._  
  
_“Professor Grimes,” he moaned, as soon as Rick was inside._  
  
_And then Rick had talked back._  
  
He felt the blush creeping up on his cheeks, hot and pink like a fresh sunburn, and he was grateful for the layers of bedding covering his lap, shielding his reaction to just the memory of the dream from Daryl's eyes.  
  
“What did I say?” he asked.  
  
“Oh nothing really,” Daryl said. And Rick had a feeling that was all he was going to give him on the matter for now. Fucking tease.

“I should get you back to campus,” he said, because there was a pretty good chance that Daryl had another class today. And damn that boy couldn't just go around skipping classes all the time. 

“In a bit,” Daryl said, trailing his fingertips down Rick's chest. The older man shuddered just a little at the touch, and then he looked up. The ocean in Daryl's eyes was churning, dark and ominous like the sea before an approaching hurricane.  
  
“Afternoon class?”

“Got time,” Daryl said, and Rick didn't even have to ask what for. 

There was a brief pause, tension hanging in the air, thick and heavy like ozone before a thunderstorm, and then it cracked through the air, white hot and blazing as they both lunged for each other on the bed.  
  
Their mouths met in the middle, more of a head-on collision than a kiss. Lips rolled and formed together, broke apart for a few panting breaths, and then found each other again.  
  
Rick clutched for the button of Daryl's jeans, for the bottom of his gorgeously tight shirt, and felt Daryl doing the same to him. One full revolution of the second hand of the antique alarm clock found them both naked, with Daryl pinned beneath Rick in his bed, their bodies rolling together like a pair of transverse waves.  
  
Rick reached down between them, directing the force of their shared grinding so that it put friction in just the right places, their cocks working back and forth against one another between them.  
  
“Fuck,” Daryl sighed, head rolling back onto the pillow.  
  
“What do you want?” Rick asked. “I wanna hear you say it.” He leaned down and licked the little mole above Daryl's lip, waiting for him to answer.  
  
“You,” Daryl said.  
  
Rick pulled away, stopping the friction that Daryl had been enjoying so much. The other man whined quietly.  
  
“You can do better than that,” he said. “You started this. What did you want to happen?”  
  
He kept his eyes off Daryl's, focusing on kissing everywhere he'd been wanting to put his mouth so far, knowing Daryl would be much more likely to answer if he didn't have to look at him. He was halfway through running his tongue up one of the muscular lines of Daryl's right bicep when the younger man finally answered.

“Fuck me,” Daryl said, halfway between demanding and pleading. “Break the fucking bed.”

Rick couldn't stop himself from letting out a predatory little growl as he leaned down and nipped a line across Daryl's bare shoulder. Jesus fucking Christ, this boy. 

* * *

Daryl couldn't believe the words had come out of his own mouth, but he'd meant every single damn one of them. Truth was, he'd been getting hornier and hornier ever since he'd heard that little sex moan come out of Rick in his sleep.  
  
Hours of staring at him, sweet as they had been, hadn't even come close to breaking the fever.  
  
Sometimes a man just needed to be fucked.  
  
Satisfied with his answer, Rick started the frantic grinding anew, and God, Daryl had never had anyone assault him like that with their mouth, so needy and lust-fueled, lips crushing and bruising every part of him they touched.  
  
Even the guys who had used him and tossed him had never done it like this.  
  
It was different than yesterday. Yesterday had been glorious and filthy, but there had been a touch of tenderness there too.  
  
This though, this was pure dominant male need, and goddamn't if Daryl wasn't just fine with this version of Rick too.  
  
“Do you like orders, Mr. Dixon?” Rick asked, and hearing him say Mr. Dixon like that made his whole body give a little jolt, like an earthquake had just gone off in all of his limbs and Rick's words were the epicenter.  
  
He couldn't do anything but nod. Fucking God yes, please.

“Good, then here's what you're gonna do for me,” Rick said, voice deep and smoldering like molten rock seeping out of an active volcano.

He reached over and opened the drawer on his nightstand. Daryl looked over and caught a brief glance of all kinds of things that definitely weren't cold cream or nighttime reading material. 

It was another little facet of Rick that he got to learn about on this prolonged date—the man was a kinky fucker.  
  
“Another time,” he said, seeming to pick up on where Daryl's eyes had gone to, wide-open and taking in all the toys and restraints in the drawer. “If you want.”

Daryl wasn't sure, so he didn't answer at all. 

Rick found a condom and a bottle of Astroglide in all the things in there and brought them up. He handed the bottle off to Daryl who took it, waiting for instructions. God, he was going to get instructions. Fucking...  
  
Rick's voice rolled out of him like thunder, soft and deep and authoritative beyond anything Daryl had heard from him, even in the classroom.  
  
“Turn over and put your fingers in your ass.”

There was a brief second when Daryl didn't move, couldn't even because there was no way he had just said that, no way Daryl could keep breathing when someone had just said that to him in that tone. 

Fucking hell.  
  
“Well, c'mon now, little duck,” Rick urged. “I wanna see you do it.”

Slowly, because he could barely move with how much his thighs were already shaking, Daryl turned over and eased up onto his knees, exposing himself to Rick who mm'd quietly behind him in appreciation. 

“There you go. Fucking beautiful.”

Jesus, Daryl was going to explode like a damn supernova at just the feeling of the other man's eyes on him. Rick gently ran his fingers up Daryl's inner-thighs, nothing more than a teasing little touch that made him shudder. 

“Go on, darlin.”  
  
Daryl squeezed a little of the lube onto his fingers, and reached back, slipping them into himself one at a time until he was up to three, gently working them in and out and trying not to cum at the thought of Rick back there watching. But that thought alone made him glance over his shoulder, and he instantly regretted it. Because Rick was back there staring at him with blazing intensity, his hand rolling up and down his cock at exactly the same pace Daryl was using on himself, and oh God, that wasn't even fair.  
  
“Harder,” Rick said. “Show me what you do to yourself when no one is watching.”

Daryl whined low, but he did as the older man ordered, pumping his fingers in and out himself feverishly, pushing his knuckles down against his sensitive spot.

“Stop.”

And damn, it took everything he had to pull his fingers out of his body, but it was probably a good thing too, because is left arm was shaking violently beneath him and he needed the other to keep from collapsing into a heap. 

“You are so damn gorgeous,” Rick said, leaning over to plant kisses down his spine.  
  
And it simultaneously seemed like no time and a fucking eternity before Rick slid into him from behind, stretching him open and filling him up.  
  
Daryl moaned low.  
  
“You still want it hard?” Rick asked quietly, leaning over him while he waited for Daryl's body to adjust to the intrusion, his lips tickling Daryl's ear. “Still want to be fucked?”  
  
“Please,” Daryl begged.  
  
Rick wrapped his arms around Daryl's torso, pulling his back tight against his chest, and then he pulled out before rolling his body back in, a little less mercifully than he normally would have.  
  
“Oh fuck,” Daryl moaned, and the word “fuck” seemed to go on for a full minute.  
  
“This what you want?” Rick asked, starting a slow build to something Daryl could already tell would be a relentless pounding that would only stop if he asked it to.  
  
“Fuck yes,” Daryl said. Because he did. He really fucking did.  
  
Rick let go of him, rising up on his knees and gripping Daryl's hips tight, fingers digging into the flesh there.  
  
“I just need to ask you one thing,” Rick said, his grip on Daryl loosening. “If I start hurting you, you're gonna actually tell me, right?”

“Yeah," Daryl said. "The safe word is 'stop.'” 

“Fair enough.” And then he grabbed Daryl's hips anew and started fucking him like no one had ever even come close to literally ever, the bed frame creaking beneath them.  
  
Jesus holy God shit fuck.  
  
Daryl tried to say all those things out loud too, but all that came out was a stream of unintelligible syllables that might have formed a word if you only switched a few of them around like puzzle pieces.  
  
The inside of Daryl's body was burning white hot like starlight, pulsing brighter with each grunt-punctuated thrust from the man behind him. God, it felt so fucking good. Had it ever ever felt this fucking goddamn good?   
  
“I'm not gonna... last much... ah shit.” Daryl whimpered a little, leaning more on his elbows, and God the change in angles only made it worse. He bit into one of Rick's pillows.

“You better ask first.”

“Can I cum?” He asked, a loud guttural moan serving as the question mark. 

“Not very polite, Mr. Dixon.”

Ah fucking God. Daryl's abs were clenching up of their own accord now, his whole body trying to curl in on itself, coiling tight in anticipation of release. 

“Please,” he gasped out. “Please, Rick.”  
  
“That's better,” Rick said. “Go on then. Touch yourself.”

Daryl reached down and grasped his cock, stroking it as Rick worked him over from behind. 

“Do it. Right on my pretty clean sheets.”  
  
“Professor Grimes,” Daryl groaned, the words coming out from someplace deep inside of him and going on and on, a sustained note right in the middle of the symphony of his orgasm. He followed it up with a string of curses and incoherent babble, pumping his release onto Rick's bed.  
  
“Oh Christ,” Rick said, “Say that again.”

Still panting with his completion, Daryl forced his head back over his shoulder, turning and meeting Rick's denim blue eyes with a nearly identical set. He smirked because he knew exactly what he was doing, and then he licked his lips, letting his eyes flutter shut a little to complete the picture. 

“Professor Grimes,” he moaned again, low and sweet and for nothing more than the other man's benefit.  
  
And then Rick cried with his own release, body twitching a little as he shot off somewhere inside of him, fanning himself over his back after and panting, every exhale ruffling Daryl's hair.  
  
When Rick finally finished coming down, and when Daryl's own pulse had slowed considerably, the two of them separated, and Daryl rolled over onto the clean side of the mattress, falling onto the bed and feeling very very boneless.  
  
“Well,” Rick said, after disappearing for a couple of minutes into the bathroom, probably to get rid of the condom and mop up a little of his sweat. “You are officially my new favorite alarm clock.”

“Even need me with all that shit in your night stand, _Professor Grimes_?” Daryl asked, his voice light and teasing. 

“Trust me,” Rick said, “most of the stuff in that drawer is not meant to be used on me.”

Daryl swallowed and looked away, cheeks flushing. 

“And I guess I know what I said in my sleep now.” Rick laid down next to him, pulling the blanket over the wet spot made by Daryl's cum.  
  
“Mhm,” Daryl said. “Dirty fucker.”

Rick laughed and kissed his temple. 

“Well,” the professor said, after a few quiet moments of enjoying the breeze created by the ceiling fan slowly turning above them, “sorry I failed you, sweetheart.”

“Hmm?”

“Bed survived.” 

Daryl scoffed. 

“Guess we'll just have to try again, huh?”

“For as long as it takes, Daryl,” Rick said. “But I probably really should get you home.”  
  
Daryl resisted the urge to say that he was pretty sure he already _was_ home. 

“Kicking me out right after sex? Typical.” Daryl gave a sarcastic little eye roll, because for once, he actually felt pretty sure of himself. Rick hadn't even tried to touch him beyond kisses last night, had driven him hours with no motive other than sharing a piece of himself, and Daryl had sort of been the one responsible for all of this sex business after all.

“If you didn't have class, I wouldn't dream of it.”

“It's alright. It's the one class I actually like anyway.”

“Ouch.”

“Hey, thinking your professor's hot and actually enjoying writing five thousand words on Cuneiform are two different things, Rick.”

“Well, just for that, you fail.” 

“Aw, but _Professor Grimes,_ I can't fail. I'll do anything you want. _Anything._ ”  
  
Rick's eyes momentarily glazed over with heat, and then it was gone, the older man laying there, shaking his head and smiling.  
  
“Get dressed, you class-skippin delinquent,” he said, standing up and tossing Daryl's underwear at him.  
  
“Fine” Daryl said, getting up and looking around for the other various articles of his clothing. “Gonna need time to shower and change anyway, I guess.”

“Mhm.” Rick dug through a set of drawers real quick and threw on a pair of sweatpants and a university tee shirt. 

Daryl followed him down the stairs and out into the brightness of the early afternoon, the sun glinting off the Mustang. Man, she was even prettier in the daylight.  
  
“Hey, uh, Rick,” Daryl said, suddenly filled with a thrilling idea.  
  
“Yeah, darlin?”

“Can I maybe...drive?”

Rick looked at him for a minute, thinking it over, working the bottom of his jaw. With a certain air of trust Daryl was proud to know he had earned, Rick tossed him the keys.  
  
The engine purred to life a few minutes later, a beautiful little mechanical roar issuing forth from beneath the hood. And while Daryl had no intention of using his new relationship with Rick to get ahead in school, _this_ was one perk that he could definitely get behind.


	15. 753

Rick took his sweet time going home and changing, slowly (and a little regretfully) showering the smell of Daryl from his body. God, that had gone better than he ever expected. Really, he thought there would be more resistance, not because Daryl didn't want him, but because the younger man seemed to be having a constant battle within himself.   
  
But Daryl hadn't fought with himself last night, not enough to notice anyway. And Rick was going to have the image of Daryl Dixon in that black shirt sitting in the sand with moonlight kissing his hair burned into his mind forever. And he didn't regret that one bit.  
  
Didn't regret the wake up call either, but that was just a bonus. A very, very sexy bonus.  
  
Rick paused in the middle of his routine, holding the little jar of hair wax in his hand and smiling. He brought it up to his nose and smelled, imagining a very sleepy Daryl telling him that he smelled like strawberries. He, himself, had never been able to quite place the scent. Fruity, sure. But Rick had never been a very good smeller, his nose dealing only in vague categories rather than specifics.  
  
Strawberries.  
  
He loved Daryl's smell too—soap and salt and something that smelled a lot like hard work, if that could even be a smell. But he wondered how much of it he was missing. Maybe if he blindfolded himself and breathed him in like he was an aged red at a wine tasting... Rick smiled at the ridiculous thought, of him sniffing him and describing the bouquet of Daryl Dixon, tasting him and talking about whether or not he was sweet or spicy or bitter or dry.  
  
He shook his head and swiped some of the wax through his hair before pulling on a jacket and driving his Camry to campus.  
  
Shane ambushed him as soon as he was in his office.  
  
“Damn't, man,” Shane said, slamming two coffees down on Rick's desk. Afternoon coffee—an offering, a caffeinated penny for his thoughts. “Haven't heard from you since yesterday morning. Other than that text.”

Yesterday morning. It seemed like a lifetime away now. 

“Lot happened.”

Shane shut the door and locked it and then walked around to the other side of the desk, stopping when his foot crunched through broken glass. 

Shit. Rick had completely forgotten about that mess. He'd meant to grab the little broom and dustpan from his house so he could clean it up before the janitorial staff came through, because it seemed wrong to make them deal with it.  
  
“Damn, you did do it then?” he asked, looking down at the mess. “Little desktop throwdown with Mr. Biceps.”

“Mr. Biceps?” Leave it to Shane to reduce him to his arms. Then again, that's probably what Shane saw him as. Fucker was probably still hoping to rope the kid into one sport or another. Though he had a point, Daryl probably would do well in one that required upper body strength. 

“Want me to go back to the other nickname?” he threatened. “Or you gonna tell me what happened?”

Without even being asked, Shane squatted down next to Rick and helped him pick up the bigger shards of the broken cups, placing pens and highlighters loosely on top of his desk. They tipped a wastebasket over and swept the rest into it the best they could, talking as they worked.  
  
“Do I really need to tell you what happened?” Rick asked. Between the glass and the tornadic rearrangement of all the essays and tests on top of his desk, it seemed pretty clear.  
  
“Yeah,” Shane said. “Need to hear how it went down. You get tired of waiting and drag him in here or?”

“He asked for it.”

“Oh damn, brother.” Shane stopped gathering up paperclips to offer him a high five. Rick rolled his eyes, but he gave it to him, putting his fancy quill pen on his desk (a ridiculous little impractical indulgence he used to sign Christmas cards with). He stood up and dusted his hands off on his slacks. 

“Tender and sweet or hot and heavy?”

Rick thought about it, pushing past the memories of the “morning” and the night before so he could relive yesterday again. Kissing Daryl and trying to tell him with everything he had in his body that he wanted him like he had never wanted anyone else. Daryl's overwhelming need for him shining bright through everything like a dancing flame. 

“Both.”  
  
Shane smiled at him, that quirky little way that seemed to say, “ _Well, hell yeah then_.”

“That's good,” Shane said. “Real good. He knows it means something and you know the sex is gonna be good, which is nice since you'll have to put up with it for a while.”

“Think I'm doing a lot more than just putting up with it, Shane.” God, that boy was a ferocious little thing too. A pure submissive little bottom, but not one to be taken lightly either. 

“Mhm,” Shane said. “Look good naked?”

“Gorgeous.”

“Sounds like you bagged you a ten pointer there, Rick,” Shane said. “Anything else happen?”

“A lot,” Rick said, and then he started to explain, unsure if Shane could even understand what it had felt like on that beach. If Shane had ever experienced that slow creeping of _more_ with anyone, love seeping into your heart, tendrils weaving their way into the soil of your chest and taking root. Rick could feel it even now.

“Wasn't that your date with Lori?” Shane asked, smiling a little fondly at the name. Lori. Yeah, Shane had gone there. Found her on the rebound from Rick and given it to her hard, the way he told it at least. Then again, she had sort of wanted him to, anything to forget. Those were her words. 

“Not anymore,” Rick said. And it was true. That beach had once been the graveyard of Lori's heart, but that was then. It was his and Daryl's now, wholly and completely, like it had never even belonged to her at all. “She suggested it anyway.”  
  
“Did he pass?” Shane asked, and that's how Rick knew that Shane was truly his best friend, because he understood that it was a test. One Lori had failed (even though she had tried really hard), not that it mattered seeing as she was never anything even close to his type.  
  
But Daryl had understood almost immediately the significance of Rick's obsession.  
  
“Flying colors,” Rick said, remembering the way he'd _had_ to pull the boy close then, had to kiss him, had to try to show him the pure significance behind finally having someone actually _get_ it.  
  
“You in love with him yet?” Shane asked, and Rick figured he probably damn well looked like he might be, eyes glazed over and a little drunk with whenever he thought about the younger man.  
  
“Almost.” And it seemed too fast, too soon. For the first time since the pieces had started falling into place, Rick felt a little flash of apprehension, but not enough that he had any plans to stop.  
  
“My granddaddy, the wily old coot he was,” Shane started. He sat down and put his feet up on Rick's desk, “used to say that love was a lot like winter. Sometimes it came slow, creeping in so you almost didn't notice it til you was shivering. And sometimes it came fast, freezing everything in its path overnight. Either way, still winter.”  
  
“You psychic?” Rick asked.

“Just know your head, brother,” Shane said. “But Rick, you ain't never done nothin slow.”

It was damn true. He and Shane had been friends since the sandbox, so close that even when Rick had come out to him, he'd done it with the deeply-rooted knowledge that Shane would never abandon him. Even as a kid, Rick had never been patient. He was the kind of child who asked “are we there yet?” every five minutes. Hell, he'd even lost his virginity before Ladykiller Walsh, even though he hadn't remotely enjoyed it and had faked an orgasm just to be done with it—that moment had been a real tip off on the nature of his sexuality. He'd been the first one to apply for college and scholarships, practically power-walked everywhere. He'd always been a hurry-up-and-get-there kind of guy, and there was no reason for his heart to be any different.  
  
“He slept over,” Rick said. “In my arms. Makes these little noises in his sleep...”  
  
“Slept over after more sex?”  
  
“Nope. We didn't have sex last night. I didn't even want to, not really.”  
  
Shane looked a little confused by that notion, and Rick didn't even bother trying to explain, because he knew that until someone finally managed to pin down Shane Walsh, he wouldn't even be able to begin to understand.  
  
But that was okay.  
  
“I didn't come here to hear about your cuddlin, Rick.” But Rick knew that was a lie, because if he was happy, Shane was too. And vice versa. How it had always been.

“Want me to describe this morning in excruciating detail then?” Rick threatened. 

“Better than listening to you talk about his hair some more.” His hair. Mm. Rick almost talked about it anyway, just to tell Shane how it looked now that he'd cut it, but he would save that to punish him with someday when was being particularly Shanelike. 

“Fine,” Rick said, opting to tell him all about their post-sleep roll around, “but you asked for it.”

He talked until Shane begged him to stop. 

* * *

He met Maggie in the library in the time between his Auto class and the club meeting that night. The two tried to study for their history test on Monday, but they got very little done as she kept making Daryl stop to hiss every single detail of the date to her. Her end of the conversation had ended up being more lip-reading than listening, but eventualy she'd been satisfied enough to stop asking questions.   
  
“You're going to fall in love with him,” she said. And Daryl didn't argue, because he was pretty sure he might have already done it.  
  
Not that he had anything to really compare his feelings to. He'd never gotten far enough with anyone else to even consider love before.  
  
All he knew was that sometime last night on the beach, his chest had started to tighten in a way that was nothing like when he got all freaked out. It was slow and different and maybe just as terrifying, but somehow very welcome too. And when Rick had pulled him close, kissing him and holding him so tight that he was surprised nothing was broken, it still hadn't felt close enough.  
  
“You could've managed kill him though,” Maggie said, frowning down at her history notes. “Or at least incapacitate him for a bit. God, I'm never going to get all these dates right.”  
  
“Me neither.” Daryl stared down at the stack of flash cards he'd been working on. Why were there so many damn dates this time? “Maybe I shouldn't have told him not to go easy on me.”  
  
“No, I think that's very important,” she said. “Might help protect him too if anything ever goes wrong.”  
  
“Yeah.” Daryl frowned a little. In all the bliss of the date and the wonderful Universe-ending sex, he'd kind of forgotten how dangerous this all really was. Hell, would they kick him out too? He shuddered a little. If that one-time failure in high school had gotten his ass whooped, he couldn't imagine what his dad would do if he got kicked out for fucking a professor. And not just any professor either: a _man_. He'd probably only stop hitting him after his body had long gone cold.  
  
“It'll be okay,” Maggie said, reaching over and giving his wrist a little reassuring squeeze. “Daddy always says that love finds a way if it's meant to.”

“Yeah,” he said, and he tried to let the hope settle into his chest the best that he could. Because if their love didn't find a way, he didn't know anymore if he could stand it. 

* * *

Friday and Saturday were mostly uneventful. The semester in full-swing now, school hit Daryl too hard for him to do anything else outside of class but sequester himself in the library. He and Rick had been texting, the most suggestive ones coming right after history class when the older man had scolded him for wearing so much plaid. He'd gone to the GSA meeting too, had a little chat with Aaron about a bike the man was working on, how he was trying to teach Eric his way around an engine but they had a problem with accidentally not doing anything and just screwing around instead. 

More texts after the meeting about how Rick was going to have to become one of those weirdos who wears sunglasses indoors so he could stare at him whenever he wanted. Daryl teasing him that he was already a weirdo, sunglasses or not.  
  
Then it was mostly silence (because the old man knew he was studying and was stubbornly keen on being a (mostly) good influence with the occasional “miss you” filling the void. They came just often enough to let Daryl know he hadn't been forgotten for even a second.  
  
“ _Miss u 2. Fuck ur test though.”_ It was the middle of the afternoon on Sunday now, Maggie was playing zombie games with Glenn, and Daryl had been through his flash cards about twelve million times over the course of the weekend. The stack of “don't got it yet” was still thicker than the stack he'd felt comfortable enough with to put aside. Fuck.  
  
“ _Sorry, darlin. But you're right. This is one of the harder ones.”_  
  
“ _If I fail it, ur not getting laid._ ” Daryl scoffed at his own words before he'd even hit send, because he knew much, much better than that.   
  
“ _Yes I am._ ”  
  
_“Yeah probly.”_  
  
_“_ _You want help?”_

“ _Not sposed to help me.”_

“ _Not like that. I'm in my office. Had to catch up on some grading because someone kept me out late on Wednesday. Your choice.”_

Daryl considered the text, wondered if he'd legitimately even get any studying done. Fuck it. The way things were going, he didn't stand a chance anyway.  
  
He picked up his stuff and sauntered off to the Humanities building, making his way to Rick's office a few minutes later. He found the professor dressed more casually than he'd seem him out in public so far, just a pair of black jeans and a simple white tee shirt. Daryl told his heart to slow the fuck down before he stepped inside.   
  
“Hey,” Daryl said, closing the door behind him and letting his bag and his flashcards plop down on top of the desk.  
  
“Hey,” Rick said, attempting what Daryl could tell was meant to be a quick little kiss, but whoops now his tongue was in his mouth.  
  
“Easy,” Daryl said, when he finally managed to wrench himself away. “I need to study. Bastard professor gave us about a million dates to memorize.”

“Sounds like a real asshole,” Rick said. "I know where he lives if you wanna TP his house." 

Daryl laughed, easing down into one of the chairs in front of Rick's desk and grabbing the stack of flashcards like he'd much rather vomit than touch them.  
  
“Let me help,” Rick said, coming around and sitting on the edge of his desk. A voice in the back of Daryl's brain screamed, “thighs!” very loudly because there they were literally less than six inches from his face. He could _bite_ them. But no, bad Daryl. Study. You have to study.   
  
“Agreed you weren't gonna,” he said, shaking away his less wholesome thoughts.

“Agreed I wasn't gonna go easy on you in my class. Never agreed I wouldn't teach you how to study better.”

“Huh?”

“What are the piles for?” Rick asked, as Daryl split the deck of flash cards and put one down.

“Ones I figure I've got down, and ones I don't. The big pile's the don'ts.” Daryl gave him a little mock glare and grumbled something about people who were too damn passionate about shit for their own good.  
  
Rick smiled broadly and stole a kiss before tugging the stack out of Daryl's hand and turning the other chair to face him. Daryl scooted around so they were sitting, knees practically touching. He looked up from Rick's lap with a little pang of regret, because Jesus, if he didn't have a test tomorrow...   
  
“You're trying to just memorize the dates flat out, right?” he asked, ignoring the look Daryl gave him, because he had to have seen.   
  
“How else you sposed to do it?”  
  
“Here, take this...” Rick said, pulling a flashcard out of the pile. “890 B.C.E.. The completion of the Iliad and the Odyssey. That one's easy because it rhymes. Odyssey in 890 B.C.E.” He said it with a little cadence to his voice, almost like a poem. 

“What about when they don't rhyme?”  
  
“You make it rhyme. Sort of. Just trying to trick your brain in to rememberin 'em.”

“This how you studied when you were in school?”

“Yes. In my undergrad and when I was getting my master's, and believe me, Daryl, when you're working toward a master's in history, there are more dates than I'll ever even dream of throwing at you guys this semester.” 

“So,” Daryl grabbed a random card from the pile in Rick's hand. “753. Founding of Rome.”

“Fifty three,” Rick thought for a minute, his jaw moving side to side, and then he smirked a little. “Filthy pee.” 

“What?” Daryl snorted. Because no, that couldn't have been what he just said.   
  
“Try to make up something that sounds the same, something utterly ridiculous that your brain will have a hard time letting go of, and then relate it in your head. Those Roman founders had filthy pee, didn't they, Dare?”

It was absolutely fucking absurd to hear that come out of Rick's pretty mouth, but damn if Daryl would ever forget the date now.

They worked through the rest of the stack together, coming up with rhymes and scrawling them on the cards. Daryl's “got it” stack grew a lot faster than it had all weekend, and he started to feel like maybe he might just make it through the test after all. 

A knock on the door stopped him from going through his last little stack of cards (about ten of them). Rick patted him on the shoulder and got up, opening the door to a man wearing a campus security uniform. Daryl's heart gave a little leap of panic. What if they'd been caught?   
  
“Lockin up the building, professor,” he said. “Saw your light on.” Daryl glanced at the clock. It was just a little past ten. Oh.   
  
“Ah, well, Mr. Dixon, guess you're on your own for the rest of them,” he said, turning around, all business and professional, like he had never even seen Daryl outside of class until tonight. “Hope that trick helps you.”

Daryl pulled on his backpack while Rick gathered his things into his saddle bag. The security guard hovered outside, waiting for them to clear the building so he could secure it, and Daryl felt an irrational surge of hatred toward the man for preventing him from getting the goodnight kiss he really wanted.  
  
Daryl stopped in the hallway and turned back toward Rick, who was locking his office up. 

“Thanks, Professor Grimes.” He tried to say with his eyes everything else he couldn't. Thank you for helping me. Thank you for teaching me something that might actually help me survive a lot more than just your class. Thank you for looking at me like I'm the only person in your world.  
  
“Night, Mr. Dixon. I'll see you in class tomorrow.”

“Night, uh, sir.”

It felt weird to call him sir now. "Professor Grimes" was fine, because Daryl knew that even now, the other man's blood had probably warmed a little at hearing it. But sir... 

He turned and walked toward the stairs, Rick and the security guard trailing behind him. 

* * *

His dorm room was dark when he got there, and he figured Glenn had already crawled into his bed and gone to sleep. But then he heard a stifled giggle, so distinctly female that there was no way it belonged to his roommate unless they were both keepin' big secrets.   
  
“Maggie?” Daryl turned on the light. And sure enough, there she was, under Glenn's blankets with him. She was still dressed, but her hair was extremely ruffled, brown sticking up at every possible angle. Glenn's messy black mop wasn't faring much better.   
  
“Uh, do I need to...” Daryl looked back at the door. There was a study lounge on every other floor of the dorm, and a game room too that would likely be empty at this hour.  
  
Glenn seemed to be yelling “yes” at him with his eyes. Daryl couldn't almost hear him pleading in his head. _Please, dude, please._    
  
“Depends,” Maggie said. “Can you concentrate if we're over here?”

“Doing _what_?” Daryl asked. And then he realized it didn't matter, because even if they were only making out, there'd still be giggling and slurping and whatever passed as flirting with Glenn Rhee.  
  
Maggie's answer to him was a little squeal when Glenn tickled her side under the covers.  
  
“I gotta stay up for a little longer studying anyway. I'll just...” He opened the mini fridge for a second and stole one of Glenn's Mountain Dews, shaking it a little at him so he'd see that he took it—payment for his troubles. And then he left, heading down the stairs for the study lounge a floor below. He could hear Maggie laughing all the way down the damn hall. Fucking kids these days.  
  
But he smiled as he pushed open the stairwell door. 


	16. Argyle

Rick may not have been able to help Daryl, but he could damn well make sure he didn't have to squirm long. As soon as he had the last test in his hand, he headed for the nearest faculty area with a test reader, working Daryl's answer sheet to the top of the pile as he walked.  
  
He had to wait behind some old professor from the social sciences department. He'd never known his name, just always called him Father Christmas in his head when he'd seen him, because that's who he called to mind. Though, now that he was standing here waiting for him to finish with the machine, Professor Turtle seemed to be more fitting. Professor Sloth? Professor Molasses? Professor Hurry the Fuck Up Already?  
  
Rick bounced where he stood, rocking on his boots. Finally, the old man ran the last test through and walked away.  
  
Rick programmed the machine with his key, and then ran Daryl's through. There was no essay portion here on this particular test—just a painful slew of names and dates—so all he had to worry about was the number the machine spat out.  
  
_“Seventy-two. You passed. Breathe.”_ It was barely there, but it was still good enough.  
  
_“O thnk fuck,”_ Daryl responded. Rick started feeding the rest of the tests through. His phone buzzed again.

_“That was fast. U got maggie's? she's beggin.”_

He shouldn't really share her grade with Daryl. It was against policy to give that kind of information out. But he knew the girl was sitting right beside him asking for it, and putting your dick in a student was sort of against policy too. In for a penny, in for a pound.  
  
He dug through the pile, found Maggie Greene's sheet, and fed it through the machine.  
  
_“Eighty-one.”_

And he didn't tell Daryl, but it would probably be the highest grade again. This test always fucked everyone up. Maybe he was a bit of a hard ass... 

 _“She said i'm allowed to have sex with u still, but u suck. don't think she's used to Bs”_  
  
Rick laughed. He knew the type too well. They were the ones that always came into his office a few weeks into the semester to either scream at him or ask him for extra credit or both. Poor girl. Better to get it out the way in her first semester though, than have it completely destroy her in some upper-level class.   
  
_“What are you doing later?”_ Rick asked, because Thursday seemed like a long time ago. And Sunday had been mostly professional, give or take a few kisses.  
  
_“Driving your Mustang.”_  
  
He laughed at the answer, gathering his test papers from the machine and letting a young woman he didn't recognize take it over.  
  
_“Works for me.”_  
  
And then he walked back to his office so he could go ahead and put the test grades into the computer system, figuring it was only fair that the other students get to stop squirming too.

* * *

  
“What's going on, dude?” Glenn asked, as Daryl paced back in forth in front of his closet. Rick had seen everything he owned, and it wasn't like it was their first date, but still...  
  
“Huh?” Daryl looked up. Truth be told, he hadn't even realized Glenn was there. He'd just walked in after spending a few hours in the garage working on a Hummer (The Douchebagmobile) with Aaron and Dale, and thrown open the sliding glass doors to examine the very few things hanging inside. He'd been staring into it ever since.

“Who are you seeing? Is she hot?” Glenn asked, walking over to his side. “That's where you've been going right? You've been dressing up, and then Wednesday you were out all night.” 

“Yeah, okay, yeah. I've been... seeing someone.”

“What's her name? What's she look like? On a scale from 1 to Maggie...”

Daryl looked over at Glenn, weighing the secret in his chest. He couldn't tell him about Rick, wouldn't tell him, but the other secret... Would it make things weird? Would Glenn start giving him furtive glances? Would he start changing in the bathroom like Daryl might pounce on him if he didn't? 

“You remember when I said Maggie wasn't my type?” Daryl started, and then he faltered, because he just wasn't sure. “Yeah, they're hot.”

“Nice! Knew she would be, the way girls stare at you. Especially since you got that hair cut. No one even notices I'm there.”

“Girls don't stare at me,” Daryl said. And if they did, it probably wasn't for anything like that. 

“Do too, dude.”

“Nah.”

“You didn't tell me her name. Does she live over in Blake?”

“They uh, live off campus.” Daryl shifted uncomfortably. Why was he being interrogated? Was this how guys were all the damn time? 

“Dude! She's probably older then, huh? Or does she just stay with her rents?”

“Older.” Daryl chewed on his thumbnail and contemplated just slipping inside of his closet and shutting the door. Would that make him shut up? Could he stay in there forever?

“How much older?”

“Older.” Daryl repeated, because he actually wasn't entirely sure. Twenty-something. Old enough to have two degrees. And to be trying for a Ph.D too, Daryl guessed, since Rick had casually mentioned that he was working on his thesis during their intermittent texting on Saturday. 

“What's her butt like?” Glenn asked, and that was the last damn straw.

“I'm gay,” Daryl blurted out, because he couldn't take it anymore. It was too many lies all at once, and he just wanted at least one of them to stop. 

“Oh, well...” Glenn went quiet for a minute, sinking down onto Daryl's bed. “Well, that's a relief.”

“Yeah, well I a- Wait, what?” 

“You and Maggie are together a lot,” Glenn said, like that explained it.

“Yeah. And?”

“Thought you might wake up one day and realize she's...” Glenn trailed off. “And the way she talks about you...”

Shit. He felt threatened by Daryl? How?

“She's yours. Well, for as long as she wants to be anyway.” Because no way was the Maggie Greene he knew going to be owned by anyone. Glenn nodded.

“Yeah, well, so... I don't really...I've never had guy talk with...” Glenn ran his fingers back through his hair. “Let's try this again, then. Is he hot?”

Daryl looked at him a minute, trying to decide if he was just being nice or was genuinely interested in his life, and then he sat down in his desk chair.  
  
“God, yes.”

Glenn smiled like he'd just gotten a question right in class. 

“And he's older and lives off campus?”

“Mhm. Nice house. Sexy car.”

“And you're going out with him tonight so you're trying to pick something to wear?”

“Yeah. He's seen all my clothes and it's not like it's a first date or anything, but I still want to, you know, look good.”

“You want to borrow that shirt again? The navy one?” The button-up he'd been wearing the night he and Rick had that run-in in the bathroom at the gay bar. Man, things had changed a lot since then.

“I'm surprised I didn't rip it the first time, honestly,” Daryl said. “Damn shoulders.”

“Hmm,” Glenn said, walking over to his own closet. And Daryl found himself wishing he had told him the thing properly instead of blurting it out in a fit of agitation. 

His roommate dug through his stuff and came out with a white button-up and a sweater vest of all things.  
  
“Just try it,” he insisted. So Daryl did, working the blue argyle-pattern on over the top of the shirt, pulling the collar free. He didn't entirely hate it. It wasn't his style even remotely, but it wasn't terrible.  
  
“See, now you look like a sexy professor,” Glenn said, and Daryl choked on his breath. “Probably. I don't actually know. That's sort of what my ex said when she picked it out, and you're apparently hot so...”

“It's clean and it's something different,” Daryl said. “It'll work. Thanks.”

Man, if his brother ever saw him rocking a fucking argyle sweater vest.

“Have fun. Um, use protection?”

Daryl gave him a withering look, and then walked out. He'd have to thank him properly later when he got over the shock of having his roommate know he was gay and actually be relieved about it of all the damn things. But for now, he had other stuff to attend to. 

* * *

Rick waited a few blocks off campus in an empty parking lot. He didn't have time to go home and switch cars between his history class and his evening lecture since he'd gotten sucked into a departmental meeting in between. God, if he never heard the word “budget” again, it would be too soon.  
  
The sky above held just a trace of daylight, the first few stars just beginning to pop out. He was going to have to figure out a better way to do this. Alexandria University was pretty safe, but he wasn't exactly on campus anymore, and he couldn’t have Daryl walking around in unpatrolled corners in the dark all the time.  
  
He stared in the direction of campus, relieved when he saw Daryl's familiar shape emerge. What was he wearing? No, seriously, what is that?  Oh dear God, why are you doing this to me?  
  
It was an outfit that screamed, “borrowed,” but it still fit Daryl's body like a glove, the sides of the sweater vest framing the bulge of his upper arms—Mmm. And that Daryl was still trying so hard to look good for him made his heart dance the tango in his chest.

“Well, this is creepy,” Daryl said, sliding into the passenger seat. Rick couldn't even argue. The parking lot was cracked with weeds sprouting up through the asphalt, and the buildings on either side basically shielded it from view. It looked like the perfect place for a drug deal... or a good ol' fashioned murder. 

“Sorry,” Rick said, “We'll figure out something better.”  
  
“I'll pay attention to where we're going so I can just start driving myself.”

“Great,” Rick said. “Now get your ass over here, because that outfit is just cruel.”

He kissed Daryl like he damn well meant it, forcing himself to keep his hands off of anywhere too important, because he was not going to bang him in his car in this creepy-ass parking lot, tempting as it was.  
  
“It's Glenn's,” Daryl said, gasping for breath as Rick finally took off toward his house. “My roommate's. It's ridiculous huh?”

“Yeah, that's definitely what I meant when I said it was cruel,” Rick said. 

“You like it then?” Daryl asked, chewing on his bottom lip, presumably because he hated Rick and wanted him to die right there in the car.  
  
“Mhm,” Rick said, “You eat yet?” He hoped the answer was no, because he'd had to walk straight from the meeting to a lecture hall, and his own stomach felt empty and hollow. Either way, he was stopping for something.  
  
“Forgot to,” Daryl said.  
  
“In the mood for anything?” Rick asked, his own body literally past the point of caring if it was a McDouble or Prime Rib.

“Cheap,” Daryl said. Rick started to argue, because he had no problem paying. He was well aware that Daryl was a college student and that he wasn't, but he could already see little prickles of agitation in the way Daryl was curling in on himself. So his brain started cycling through fast food places that were on the way home, especially ones with value menus. 

“Let's see,” Rick said, “Taco Bell, Steak-n-Shake, KFC, Burger King, Wendy's, Sonic.”

“Don't care,” Daryl said. “Just not Wendy's. I threw their chili up all over Merle once.” 

“Tell you what,” Rick said, “Pick a number between, say, one and ten.”

“Seven.”

"Alright, count the cheap places and tell me when we get to seven.”

They ended up at a McDonald's. Rick had tried to slyly pay for Daryl's meal by moving aside while he was at the counter, giving him an opening, but Daryl hadn't fallen for it.  
  
“Nah, I got it.”

He pulled out some crumbled bills, something fluttering to the floor as he did. Rick bent down to pick it up, nodding that he had it, that he'd hold onto it until Daryl finished ordering. He looked down at it, a business card from the university. It was so familiar that for a fleeing second, he thought it was his own card, but no, he'd never given Daryl one of his cards—just his brain trying to slap a label on it as quick as possible. 

 _Dr. Carol Kemp  
Psychiatrist, _ _Alexandria University_

“Sorry,” Daryl said, reaching for the card.  
  
“Did you talk to her?” Rick asked. He had never met a Dr. Kemp, but it seemed promising that Daryl had her card at all. Shit, everything else had been going so well that he'd forgotten he had meant to do more for the boy in front of him.  
  
“Huh?” Daryl took the card back and looked at it, realization dawning on him. “I guess technically.”

“That's great,” Rick said, taking his tray of food, stomach already growling at the smell of his french fries.

“No, I didn't the way you mean, I...” Daryl started, grabbing his own when they called his number. Rick let him lead them to a table tucked away in the back corner, let him take the side he felt comfortable taking.  
  
Rick didn't press him. He let Daryl unwrap his dollar cheeseburger and take a bite, waiting patiently for him to continue.  
  
“I sort of, uh, p- flipped out in the library, and she was the only one there.”  
  
“Why?”

“It was right after we...”

Oh. Rick frowned a little at his Big Mac. 

“Wasn't because I didn't want to. Hard to explain." Daryl swallowed book his fourth and last bite, and swallowed. "Was just a little, uh, overwhelmed, and I needed to tell Maggie, to get it out because I felt like I was gonna explode, and I went there hopin, and she wasn't there and...”  
  
Rick tried to wrap his head around it, because he wanted to understand. He wanted to understand this part of Daryl because it was important. Not the same way that Roanoke Island was important to himself, but still important nonetheless. An essential part of who he was, even if it wasn't a good one.  
  
“I think I understand,” he said. “So Dr. Kemp was there.”

“Asked me how long I've been having panic attacks, described the symptoms, told me she'd leave a place open for me earlier this morning.”

“But you didn't go.” 

“No,” Daryl said. “I don't have... I don't have panic attacks.”

“Okay,” Rick said, because he'd already had this argument once, and it hadn't exactly gone anywhere good. Daryl glanced up at him, frowning a little at his response. The two of them fell quiet for a minute, Daryl playing with the straw in his cup of water. 

“I don't, do I?” Daryl asked, looking down and starting to meticulously fold the wrapper for his cheeseburger into a neat little rectangle. It dawned on Rick that it was all he'd ordered. No way was it enough.

“Do you what?”

“Do I have them?” He looked so damn innocent, so scared and uncertain.

“I can't answer that question for you, sweetheart,” Rick said. “But I'm pretty sure.”

“That's what she said too,” Daryl said. “Pretty sure.”

“Can't diagnose you until she actually talks to you.”

“If I did,” Daryl started, playing with the corner of his paper tray liner, “would you still...” He bit his lip.

The words hit Rick in the chest like a sledgehammer, shattering his heart into a million little pieces. And without a second thought, he dropped his burger and reached across the table with all the speed of a cobra strike, grabbing both of Daryl's hands with his and squeezing them tight. 

“Of fucking course, I would.”  
  
Daryl exhaled raggedly, eyes wide like he was trying to let any potential tears dry before they could tumble out. And Rick could just tell that the younger man needed an out, that he needed to hit the pause button on this conversation for a minute. So he gave him one.  
  
“Help me eat these fries. I don't even know why I ordered a large meal. The drink, I guess.” It was a lie, and Rick had wanted every last salt-covered fried carbohydrate in the damn restaurant, but Daryl's single little burger wrapper practically mocked him.

Daryl did as he said, mechanically bringing one fry after another to his mouth, his other hand never letting go of Rick's.

Rick wanted to keep talking, wanted to tell Daryl over and over that he was perfect even if he wasn't. Hell, he could be a fucking ax murderer at this point, and Rick would still keep him, because he was far past the point where he could even dream of letting go. But now was not the time. This was a crucial point in Daryl's life that really had nothing to do with him, and Rick didn't want to fuck it up. 

So he finished his burger one-handed, gently rubbing his thumb over Daryl's knuckles as they ate in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm using the grading system I'm used to, so for those of you who aren't American or who enjoyed school at places that actually had Ds...  
> 90-100 = A  
> 80-89 = B  
> 70-79 = C  
> 69 and below = You fail. Bye.  
> You can divide them out into A+/-, etc. for GPA stuff, but I doubt I'll get so in-depth in the story that it's necessary. But yeah. For when history grades come up... :-p


	17. Mustang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I know relatively nothing about cars, and some parts of this chapter might very well be confidently-written bullshit.

Daryl pushed the engine of the Mustang a little harder, reveling in the sound of it, losing himself in the vibration of the steering wheel. God, they didn't make cars like this anymore, and it was a damn shame.  
  
Rick sat quietly in the passenger seat as they sped down the highway at exactly the speed limit of seventy miles per hour. It was nearing ten at night on a Monday in the middle of nowhere, and they almost had the roads entirely to themselves. Daryl wished he would say something, but at the same time, maybe he needed to think.   
  
_“I don't have panic attacks.” And there was Maggie looking at him like he was lying to everyone, including himself._  
  
He could almost feel the pressure Rick had put on his hands back at the fast food joint, could almost still feel him squeezing.  
  
The first one had come his sophomore year of high school. He'd failed a biology test pretty abysmally (had completely slipped his mind to study really). The teacher had told him he would have to take it home and get it signed by a parent or guardian. He'd managed to make it to the relative safety of the nearest boys' bathroom before he broke down, sequestering himself in a stall and choking on his breath for the next twenty minutes.  
  
Gareth Wiley of all people had found him. He was on the soccer team, the favorite every time they had anything voting-related, the one girls giggled about in bathrooms before every school school dance.  
  
He'd splashed cold water on Daryl's face, talked him down. And that night, he'd helped Daryl forge his dad's signature on the test, and Daryl repaid him by letting him take his virginity in the back of Gareth's mom's SUV, parked out in a some pasture in the middle of nowhere.  
  
Gareth drove him home, bruised and sore in ways he'd previously never imagined, and discarded him on his front lawn like used tissue. Never spoke to him again.  
  
Something deep within the Mustang popped and sputtered a little, bringing Daryl back to the present.  
  
“Shit,” Daryl said. There was white smoke leaking out from under the hood of the car.  
  
He let the vehicle drift into the parking lot of what looked like an old gas station, the inside of the small building completely gutted and nothing but the little awning that used to cover the pumps remaining outside.  
  
“Is that bad?” Rick asked.  
  
“You got a flashlight by any chance?” Daryl asked, opening up the door and getting out. Rick pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight app as Daryl popped the hood.  
  
“Can you fix it?” Rick asked. “Do I need to call a tow?”  
  
Daryl grabbed the phone from him so he could shine it around where he needed it instead of having to take the time to direct him.  
  
“Busted radiator hose.”  
  
“Can you-”  
  
“Can rig it maybe, but I'll need to replace it for sure.”

“Will it be safe to drive if you rig it?” Rick asked.  
  
“Yeah, have to take it easy, but she'll get us home.” Daryl was already working the sweater vest off and unbuttoning the white shirt. He had a feeling Glenn wouldn't be too happy if he gave him his stuff back covered in engine grease and sweat.

“What do you need?”

“Wouldn't happen to have duct tape on you, would you?” Daryl asked, shaking a little in his tank top. Fall was finally starting to creep in, slipping quietly into the dark like a burglar. 

“Don't really have anything on me,” Rick said. “Spare tire and a jack, but this ain't that kind of problem, I'm guessing.”  
  
“Need to wait a little bit for it to cool before I mess with,” Daryl said, and then he sat right down on a piece of raised concrete that used to hold a one of the gas pumps. Rick sat down next to him.  
  
“You're shivering,” he said. And the he shrugged off his tweed jacket and handed it over. Daryl pulled it on and leaned against him. He should have waited to take the other stuff off until he was actually about to start working, but oh well.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“At least it's a nice night,” Rick said, looking up. “Other than the cold.”

Daryl followed his gaze to the edge of the little awning. It was indeed a nice, clear night, especially out here away from town. The moon was only a little sliver, and the stars were a bright blanket overhead. He could even see the milk of the milky way hazing out around each little pinpoint of light. 

I think I love you, Rick.   
  
But he couldn't say it. So he said the thing he could.  
  
“I'm gonna go,” he said. “See that lady, I mean. The shrink.”

Rick squeezed him just a little. 

“That's good, Daryl,” he said, kissing him on the top of the head. “That's really good.”  
  
Rick leaned away and tilted his chin up, pressing their lips together softly, reassuring him all over again that he wasn't going anywhere. And damned if every single star in the sky didn't seem to fall down around them like rain. Rick pulled away and Daryl sighed out, “don't,” grabbing a fistful of blue button-up before Rick could resume their previous position.  
  
“Don't what?” Rick asked, but Daryl was already moving to kiss him again, tugging at the buttons of his shirt. Rick grabbed his hand.  
  
“Hey, easy,” the professor said, glancing up at the highway as a lone car swooshed past. “Not here.”  
  
“In there then,” Daryl said, glancing up at the Mustang, already standing up.  
  
Rick licked his lips and scrubbed his hand over his face, leaving it there and shaking his head.  
  
“Daryl...”  
  
“Please,” Daryl breathed, already looking through the window and trying to figure out how it would work. If they crawled into the back... He turned around to beg some more, but Rick was standing right behind him. The older man used his weight to press Daryl against the Mustang, and then he kissed him like the world was ending. Daryl found himself fumbling for the door handle behind him. Fucking where the fuck was the fucking handle? But Rick pulled away before he found it.  
  
“Fix the car,” he said, kissing his forehead. “I know what you want tonight. I want it too. But you deserve... Fix the car.”

Daryl bit back a little whine, but he walked around to the front anyway. 

* * *

Rick could feel the way the air had changed, and he didn't mean the gentle nip of the incoming autumn. There was something different between him and Daryl, something charged and beautiful that threatened to rip open the book of reality and re-write every single page. 

He watched Daryl work, shirtless now because he refused to mess up Rick's jacket, and he'd needed his tank top for whatever he was doing under the hood. Rick had watched him rip the cheap white fabric into shreds, bending over the car in nothing but his jeans.  
  
Any other night, his blood would be on fire, but now it was only buzzing quietly, electricity humming low through his every vein.  
  
Daryl didn't want to fuck him tonight. He could just feel it. The desperate way he'd kissed him, and that feeling... That feeling that something was fundamentally different.  
  
And damn it, he was not going to let the first time they made love be an awkward romp in the back of his grandpa's Mustang. Daryl deserved a bed, space to stretch out his gorgeous body so Rick could worship every single inch of skin, and the boy was damn well going to get it.  
  
“Try it,” Daryl said, tossing him the keys.  
  
The car bellowed to life, without smoke or any unusual noise, and Daryl said a little “fuck yeah” before closing the hood and walking back around to the driver's side.  
  
“I'm definitely gonna need to drive,” he said. “I know what she can handle right now.”

Rick slid over the middle console into the passenger seat without argument, watching him climb in and shrug the jacket back on over his bare skin.

I love you, Daryl.  
  
He knew it now, had really known it as soon as Daryl had questioned whether or not he'd stick around back at McDonald's, but it was there now bright and clear in his mind like the beam of a lighthouse, hanging on his tongue and waiting for the right moment to be said.  
  
Shane was right, or Shane's granddaddy was right, or it didn't really matter who had said it in the end. Either way, this was a flash freeze. Except it didn't feel like that at all. No, this was warm, hot even. The spontaneous fucking combustion of Rick's heart.  
  
And he was pretty damn sure he wasn't the only one burning as they rolled slowly through the night, Daryl babying the car all the way home.   
  
It felt like two full orbits around the sun before they pulled the car into Rick's driveway, in the nick of time too as the engine had just started to smoke up a little again.  
  
Daryl muttered some stuff about replacing the hose for him, but the words flitted in and out of his ears, with all the staying power of water cupped in someone's hands. All he could think about was what was waiting for him when they got through the door.  
  
If he went in there and did what he was planning on doing, there was no turning back. It would either end in the two of them old and gray with matching rocking chairs, or in the cataclysmic destruction of both of their hearts. There would be no in between, not with them.  
  
Daryl turned back on the porch, huddled in his tweed jacket with the borrowed clothes in his hand. He looked down at the lock and back at him, raised an eyebrow.  
  
Rick nodded, more to himself than Daryl. Then, he steeled his nerves and walked up the steps.

* * *

Daryl didn't know how his brain could contain so many thoughts at once and still be functioning even a little.  
  
New radiator hose. Have to order it probably unless we get lucky with a salvage yard.—I love you. Please don't hurt me like everyone else always has.—How am I going to make an an appointment with that doctor lady when I can hardly even talk to my own brother on the phone?—Please touch me. Please touch me and mean it.  
  
Daryl didn't look back as soon as he was inside the house. He just headed for the stairs, taking them one-by-one and listening for Rick's footsteps behind him. And there they were, thudding reassuringly a little out of step with his own.  
  
He faltered a little near the landing, his store-brand work boots catching on one of the stairs. He caught himself, but not before Rick's hands grabbed his waist, steadying him.  
  
I love you. God, I fucking love you, and it's so fast. And I'm terrified, but I do.  
  
“I'm right here,” Rick said. “I've got you.”

Daryl stopped just inside the door frame of Rick's room, staring at the bed, barely visible in the soft orange glow of the security light outside filtering in through the curtains. A few days ago, he'd woken up in it with Rick curled against him. A few days ago, he'd initiated a frantic storm of fucking that would be burned into his memory forever. A few days ago seemed like a lot longer than a few days ago. 

And frantic fucking wasn't what he wanted, not this time. He wanted what he'd felt back at that abandoned gas station out in No Man's Land. He wanted to feel like the sky was falling down around them until all that was left was blinding white light and twin heartbeats pulsing together in time.  
  
Like he could sense it, Rick snaked his hands around him from behind and nuzzled into his neck, gently pressing kisses against the skin there.  
  
I love you and you feel like home. I've never had a home, not really, not until you. And I know it's too soon, but I can't stop.  
  
Fucking say it. Goddamn't, Daryl, you coward.  
  
“Rick...” Daryl's throat closed up and he choked back a sob.

“Shh, it's okay. C'mon.” Rick walked him gently to the bed, slept-in and unmade from the night before. “Lay down. Breathe.”

Rick didn't turn the light on. Instead he lit a single candle over on top of his dresser, washing the room in a soft glow and the smell of warm brown sugar. 

Daryl felt the mattress sink next to him as Rick crawled onto the bed, situating himself between his knees and leaning down to kiss him softly, gently coaxing his lips open with his own, their tongues sliding together, more of a ballet than their usual tango.  
  
Rick broke apart from him fluidly, like a drop of water forming and falling upward against gravity, his lips moving slowly along Daryl's jawline. Rick paused, and the air around them felt charged with something very much like expectation. Daryl waited, the universe exploding and reforming a thousand times in his chest.   
  
“I love you, Daryl,” Rick whispered, the words only audible because of the proximity of his mouth to his ear. And Daryl had to stop himself from ruining everything by dissolving into tears. Somebody loved him. Someone fucking loved him and wanted him to be happy and healthy and whole. Somebody loved him because they could and not because they had to. And it wasn't dependent on whether or not he brought honor to their name or made something of himself. All he'd had to be was Daryl, and someone fucking loved _him_.  
  
Say it back. Come on, Daryl. He deserves to hear it.  
  
“I...” He choked again, whimpering a little because why couldn't he just fucking _get it out_? He didn't even have to go first now. He didn't even have to wonder if it was returned.   
  
“I know, darlin.”  
  
Rick tugged his tweed jacket off of Daryl's bare arms.  
  
Daryl had never felt anything as tender as the kisses Rick pressed to what felt like every single exposed part of his body. The older man started at Daryl's right fingertips, brushing them with his lips and moving to his palm, slowly working his mouth all the way up Daryl's arm and then back down the other side. He peppered little kisses onto the younger man's stomach and along the waistband of his jeans, not stopping until he'd planted his mouth right over Daryl's steadily pounding heart.  
  
Daryl felt very much like a canvas, and Rick was painting his feelings right onto his soul.  
  
“Please,” Daryl said. “Need you closer. Need more.”

Rick nodded, moving so their mouths were realigned and he could take Daryl's again with his own, rocking their denim-clad bodies together slowly.  
  
“Doesn't have to go any further than you want it to tonight,” Rick said. “This is all for you.”

But there was no way Daryl could let it end here.  
  
“Want it all. Want you.” 

Rick nodded again and kissed a line back down the middle of his body before pressing his lips firmly against him through the denim of his jeans, working his mouth over Daryl's clothed erection.  
  
God, love felt even better than lust.  
  
Daryl moaned softly.

Rick unbuttoned Daryl's jeans and worked them open, tugging his underwear out of the way so he could place kisses all over the space between his hip bones. Daryl lifted up so Rick could strip him of his clothes, pausing to untie and pull his boots off first. And then Daryl was completely naked and exposed and for once not the least bit self-conscious about it.

Another dip in the mattress, and Rick was back, warm breath ghosting over the skin of Daryl's erection. Daryl trembled, partially due to all the new sensations and feelings, and partially due to anticipation, because he'd never had a blow job himself—only given them, and usually they were violent and too rough even by Daryl's standards.  
  
He felt Rick's tongue flatten against the slit of his cock, and...  
  
“Oh, God,” he breathed out, relishing in the way Rick's soft lips circled him and worked their way down. It was warm heat and wet pressure coupled with the flutters of Rick's tongue, and Daryl had never thought a blow job could be loving, but there was Rick writing Shakespearean sonnets with his mouth all over his Daryl's sensitive flesh.  
  
He fisted his hands in Rick's waves and let his eyes flutter shut, losing himself in between of Rick's gorgeous lips and knowing somehow that even if he'd had anyone else to compare it to, this would have been the best head of his life.  
  
“That feeling good?” Rick asked quietly.  
  
“Better than good,” Daryl said, scratching gently at Rick's scalp.  
  
“What you deserve,” he said, “to be worshiped like this. Someone should've done it sooner.”

“Glad it's you.”

Rick ran his lips up Daryl's inner thighs, and then pulled away, reaching over into his night stand. Daryl didn't even need to look to know what he was getting.  
  
And when Rick leaned back down to take his cock into his mouth again, Daryl felt a slick finger gently pressing inside of him, tender and patient, like Rick was trying to coax some rare exotic flower into opening its petals. And then lips and fingers blended into one continuous sensation, building and feeding off one another until Daryl was squirming on the bed. 

“Stop,” Daryl pleaded, and Rick did without question, pulling off with a little pop. “Keep doing that with your mouth, and I won't make it...”

Rick smiled and went back to smothering him in kisses instead, all the while gently preparing his body for more.  
  
Eventually, Rick made it back to Daryl's mouth, kissing him slow and sweet like dripping honey. 

“You ready?” he asked, already three fingers deep.  
  
Daryl nodded, unable to stop the low whine that escaped him when Rick pulled his hand away, leaving him empty and wanting.  
  
Rick stood up and undressed for him, peeling off his layers one by one before sliding a condom on and crawling back into bed.  
  
“Wait,” Daryl said, putting his hand on Rick's chest.   
  
“You alright?” The older man's brow creased with concern, and Daryl reached up to brush the barely-there stubble peppering Rick's cheek, stroking the lines of his face with the backs of his fingers. 

“I love you too.”

Rick's face softened. His lips quirked up at the edges, and his eyes glazed over in a shining, happy sort of way. It was in that moment that Daryl finally understood the meaning of "love-drunk," and he was eternally grateful to every available deity that this was how he'd found the definition. 

“Wanted to say it before you...” Before you start. Before you have to wonder if it slipped out on accident and if I really meant it.  
  
Because plenty of guys had told Daryl they loved him over the years during sex, only ever during sex, and it only meant one thing to all of them: I love fucking you. And even that was probably a little off considering almost none of them came back for seconds.    
  
“Thank you, Daryl,” Rick muttered. “Thank you for choosing me.” For choosing him. As if Daryl ever could've resisted the gravitational pull between them. 

Rick lowered himself on his arms and held Daryl's gaze tightly as he slid inside of him. Daryl fought to keep his eyes from slamming shut, sighing in near-relief at the sensation of being filled by the other man. This. Please, God, don't ever make me let go of _this_. 

Now that they'd said it once, the words flowed out of both of them like water, filling in the space between every moan and groan and “God, yes” like cement, slowly setting and binding them together—I love you. I love you. I love you.  
  
“Please,” Daryl begged, as the slow building wave of the evening threatened to finally crest. “Please, Rick.”

The older man kissed him for what had to be the thousandth time that night, finding his cock with his hand and stroking it in time with the gentle rocking of their love-making, everything melting into a chorus of sweat and sighs and pure bliss. 

“Yes, fuck,” Daryl said, face screwed up as he concentrated on the impending conclusion of some of the best moments of his entire life.  
  
One stroke, two, three... And there it was, slamming into him full-force.  
  
“Rick,” he cried out, spilling between them in glorious little spurts. And Daryl's orgasm seemed to act like the first domino in a chain, sending Rick toppling over as well.  
  
“Daryl." He groaned low with every spasm of release, breathing them out hot against Daryl's cheek.   
  
The two of them folded together like silk, spent and sweaty as they were, and that's when Daryl realized that their orgasms hadn't been the end of it at all. There were more kisses, Rick petting his hair and Daryl ruffling Rick's now-messy waves until they stuck up in every possible direction. Rick nuzzling his cheek and Daryl burying his nose in Rick's neck and deeply inhaling his scent. There were whispered promises and affirmations, half of which neither of them even heard, but it didn't matter, because they knew the gist of them all anyway—I love you. I'm here to stay. You're stuck with me. Deal with it.  
  
It went on and on, neither of them even realizing they were falling asleep, snuggled against each other and drifting off together like twin ships on calm seas.  
  
And it didn't matter who managed to say the final “I love you” that night, only that they'd both said it at all. 


	18. Shatter

Daryl woke up with a smile playing at the corner of his lips.  
  
“Rick,” he mumbled, hand already reaching across the mattress for skin and warmth. But he found nothing. He opened his eyes to an empty bed, the sheets cool enough to tell him that Rick had been out for a while. He started to pout, but then he smelled it—something sweet and buttery and savory wafting up from downstairs.  
  
His stomach gave a little growl and he forced himself to roll off of Rick's bed, reaching for his underwear. He considered pulling his jeans and Glenn's stuff back on, but he wanted soft and warm, just like the bed he'd just left and the arms he'd spent all night in.  
  
So he took his chances with Rick's dresser, finding a plain gray shirt and a pair of Alexandria University sweatpants, covered in little smears of dry paint the same color as the walls of the bedroom. He pulled them both on and padded barefoot down the stairs.  
  
“Hope you don't mind,” Daryl said, walking into the kitchen yawning. Rick sat at the table sipping coffee and working on the crossword puzzle in the morning paper (of course, he was the kind of dork who still got a morning paper). The source of the smell sat in front of him in the form of a stack of thick, fluffy pancakes and bacon cooked to a seemingly perfect crisp.  
  
“Mind?” Rick looked up at him, a smile immediately cracking across his face and lighting up every feature like morning sun filtering over the horizon.  
  
“Well,” he said, dropping his pen on top of the folded newspaper and letting his eyes move up and down Daryl's body, “that's just too damn cute.”

Daryl blushed and looked down. 

“When's your first class?” Rick asked.   
  
“Ten,” Daryl said, looking around the kitchen for a clock, his phone still upstairs in the pocket of his jeans. The one on the microwave just said 00:00.  
  
“Relax, darlin. It's still early,” Rick said. “Eat.”

Daryl sat down opposite him and pulled the plate of food closer, grateful because he was ravenous now that he thought about it. The small cheeseburger and handful of Rick's fries last night hadn't been nearly enough. He drizzled maple syrup onto his pancakes, dipped a piece of bacon into the sticky goo and took a bite. Salt and sweet and mmm. 

“Maybe you can help me out now that you're up,” Rick said. “Five letters. Controls the flow of fuel and air in a combustion engine.”  
  
Daryl looked up, chewing and swallowing his pancakes. Rick was rolling the butt of the pen back and forth across his bottom lip, looking at him expectantly. Jesus, could he not?  
  
“Valve,” Daryl said, taking a sip of orange juice.  
  
“Never would've gotten that one,” Rick said, marking it down. “Thanks.”

“Thanks for breakfast.” And for last night. And for you. “Can't remember the last time someone made me pancakes.”

“Your parents didn't cook for you growing up?” Rick asked, setting his pen down again. 

“Mom did once or twice 'fore she died, but she was usually still sleeping it off from the night before most mornings. Dad...” Daryl shook his head.  
  
“Didn't know about your mother,” Rick said. “I'm sorry.”

“Her own damn fault,” Daryl said. “Fell asleep with a lit cigarette. Lost her and good chunk of the house.” 

“When did that happen?”

“I was ten. I remember there was a fifth grade carnival at my school, looked forward to it all year, and I couldn't go because of the funeral. And I was so mad at her because she'd already taken herself away from me and then she had to take away that too,” Daryl said. “Stupid, really. Selfish.”

“You were ten,” Rick said, like that excused it. 

“Sorry,” Daryl said. “Not really happy breakfast talk. Didn't mean to go there.” He took another bite of his food. 

“You know," Rick said, taking another sip of coffee, "my grandpa's the one who left me the car. Mom's dad. My own ran off a week or two before I was born, got freaked out probably, and Pawpaw sort of stepped in as my unofficial father figure, taught me how to fish and drive stick and shoot whiskey. He was always there for me whenever I needed him and even when I didn't." He sat his cup back down. "But he was always smoking. Two packs a day every day since he was sixteen according to him, and...”

Daryl had a pretty good feeling he knew where the story was going, and he let his hand creep toward Rick's on the tabletop until their fingertips were just barely touching. 

“Fought the cancer like the cantankerous son of a bitch that he was, but in the end...”  
  
“Sorry,” Daryl said. “Seemed like a good dude.”  
  
“He was. Would've really liked you once he got over the shock of me being gay.”

“Didn't know?”

Rick shook his head. 

“He was already dying by the time I let myself be okay with it. He was sorta like my buddy Shane is, always wanted to talk about women—pretty ones he'd met overseas when he was in the Navy, my grandmother, the lady who made keys down at the hardware store. He enjoyed the back and forth of it, and I just didn't have the heart to take that away from him then. Told myself if he made it, then I'd tell him. Guess he wasn't meant to know.”

“Sorry.”

“What about your dad? He know?” Rick asked. “Your brother?”

“Hell no,” Daryl said. “Merle, he'd, he'd just be an asshole about it, but dad...”

“Wouldn't be too happy?”

“No, Rick,” Daryl said, “he would kill me or get damn near close.” Daryl pushed his last bite of pancakes around on his plate. God, he'd been so caught in the whirlwind of falling in love that he hadn't even considered how his dad would factor in. How do you hide a forever-someone from someone forever? 

“Has he hurt you before?” Rick asked, and Daryl looked up to find something dangerous glinting in his usually soft blue eyes. Daryl had never told anyone about that time. Gareth had probably figured it out, but no one knew for sure. He could lie, but he didn't want to. Not to Rick. Not to the man he loved.  
  
“Yes.”

Rick breathed in deeply through his nose, nostrils twitching. 

“Only once,” Daryl said, and he wasn't sure why. It wasn't like it excused anything. It wasn't like he hadn't been living in fear of “twice” ever since.

“Once is still one time too many,” Rick said. 

“I know he'd do it again. Can't believe he hasn't yet really. But if he found out that I'm...” Daryl felt a little sick all of a sudden. Last night, he'd let himself dream about spending the rest of his life with someone. God, all those whispered promises between the two of them... 

“I won't let that happen,” Rick said. There was an edge to his voice that Daryl had yet to hear before that moment, and he could see something in the way Rick's hands had curled into fists, in the way his eyes had gone from calm seas to hard steel—under all the warm, sweet, softness he exuded, Rick had bones of pure black iron.

“Don't know if you could stop him,” Daryl said. His dad was an asshole on most days, but with the right mix of split shifts and Jack Daniels, he became something else entirely. Hell itself would probably spit Will Dixon back out in fear if he died on a day like that.  
  
“I won't let that happen,” Rick repeated. And Daryl hoped a time never came when he'd have to try and prove himself right.

* * *

Freshly showered and dressed in a cleaner pair of Rick's sweats, Daryl made his way down the hallway toward his dorm after a walk over from that creepy-ass parking lot and a promise that Rick would text him.   
  
He awkwardly juggled the stuff in his hands, fumbling around for the jeans pocket that his keys were in. Nope, not that one. Wait, didn't he just check that pocket? When did his jeans turn into a labyrinth of fucking pockets?  
  
“Glenn, stop, I need to-”  
  
Daryl pressed his ear to the door, and was rewarded with a loud feminine moan that he knew without a doubt was Maggie. He cringed back.   
  
Oh for fuck's sake.  
  
He checked his phone. Way too close to ten for him to leave them be. And he had a math test, so there was no way he could just ditch out for the sake of their privacy.   
  
“Sorry, buddy,” he whispered, and then he unlocked and opened the door, shielding his eyes with his handful of clothes. Maggie squealed his name in surprise.  
  
“Not looking, not looking, not looking,” Daryl said, practically jogging through Glenn's side. “Sorry, but I have a test.”  
  
He threw the pile of shit on his bed, stopping only long enough to dig through and find his wallet, and then he grabbed his book bag and hightailed it out of there, throwing back a smartass remark about “being safe” before he closed and locked the door.  
  
And damn't he was happy for them, especially for Maggie since he knew what she'd been through. But they were going to have to start communicating if he might accidentally walk in on his roommate and his best friend naked. He shuddered at the thought and headed to class. 

* * *

Rick slowly cleaned up the kitchen after he got back home, trying to hold onto each little separate task like they were anchors, keeping his mind from floating off and going completely haywire. There was so much in it—too much even. Daryl, shirtless and leaning over his Mustang. Daryl and a night that had felt like destiny and infinity rolled into one big beautiful cosmic wave of ecstasy.  
  
Daryl and his good for nothing piece of shit father who had dared to fucking lay a hand on him and practically scared the boy to death.  
  
The plate shattered violently against the fridge door before Rick even realized he'd thrown it, making him jump when it did, and he thought about the other big thing his grandpa left him for the first time since he'd brought it home.  
  
He knew exactly where it was—upstairs, deep under his bed in a locked box—a Colt Python .357, heavy and shiny and deadly. He also knew he would never use it, technically wasn't even legally allowed to, but damn did it feel good to imagine that he might. He picked up the shards of sticky glass off the floor and cleaned up the splattered syrup with a rag. He wasn't even aware that he'd somehow cut his hand until he stuck it under the water to wash the goop off and felt it sting.  
  
Shit. He watched the blood swirl down the sink and wrapped a rag around his palm.  
  
He'd known Daryl was a little damaged and that he didn't think he was worth much, but it had never occurred to him to wonder why.  
  
How dare you, you fucking bastard? How dare you ever touch that beautiful boy?  
  
He sat down at the table, seething in anger in a way that he wasn't sure he had ever even come close to before in his life. He looked down at his hand, trying to decide if it was deep enough for stitches and deciding that no, it wasn't worth the trouble or the bill.  
  
How do I stop it from ever happening again? How do I keep him safe?

The semester was still young even if it felt eternal at this point, but it would be over before he knew it, and Daryl would be going home for Christmas break. Home where anything could happen. Home where even if nothing technically did happen, he'd probably lose a lot of whatever progress he'd made toward believing he was a person of worth.  
  
He could stay at Rick's. But what would he tell his dad? How would they get away with that? And family was family. He might still want to see them even if...  
  
Rick sighed and looked over at the crossword puzzle still sitting on the table, sliding his finger across five down that he'd only gotten with Daryl's help.  
  
You belong in my life. You belong with me and all the friends you've made who are helping to fill in the ugly holes in your gorgeous little soul.  
  
Three months. He had about three months to try and figure this out before Daryl got sucked away back home.  
  
And damn't if Rick wasn't going to think about how to prevent it every fucking day until then. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick thanks to all the lovely responses on the last chapter. That one was a really special one for me, and I'm glad you all felt the same. 
> 
> And thanks for all the comments so far in general. Even a short one makes my day. :)


	19. Shower

Rick paused on the porch of his house, two bottles of ice cold water in his hands. It was Saturday afternoon. The weather was being weather, and while fall edged the night with cold, summer was still trying its best to hold tight to the daytime hours. He looked at the boy in his driveway, leaned over his car in jeans and a ribbed white tank top, his arms glistening with sweat and smeared with engine grime. Rick smiled.   
  
Mine. All mine.   
  
Daryl had told him in a series of texts earlier in the week which part he needed, and Rick had ordered it from the local auto shop. He'd texted Daryl the previous day when it had finally come in and begged him to go ahead come over to fix the Mustang this weekend.   
  
Truth was, the car would have been fine sitting in his driveway another week, but he hadn't seen his lover since Tuesday morning outside of class and the GSA meeting. He'd gotten strong-armed into helping with some preservation project the history department was working on in conjunction with a local museum, and he had spent all his spare hours that week up to his eyeballs in old microfiche. Fuck microfiche.  
  
And Daryl, well, he had tests in classes besides his own.  
  
It had been a (very) long week of nothing but back and forth texts that ranged from sickeningly sweet to downright obscene, but they had survived it. And now they were together again, just like they should be always in Rick's humble opinion.    
  
“Here,” he said, walking up to the boy currently elbow-deep in his Mustang. He held out one of the waters, the plastic already beading up with condensation.   
  
“Thanks,” Daryl said, popping a little kiss on his mouth before downing half the bottle. “Almost got it done.”

“Take your time,” Rick said, rubbing Daryl's sides a little and looking over his shoulder down into the car. “You look damn hot doing it.”

“Shut up.” Daryl said, but he curled his body back against Rick's anyway. “Rather finish so we can go upstairs.”

“Mmm,” Rick said, nuzzling into Daryl's neck. “I like your plan better. Let's do your plan.” 

Daryl reached back and grabbed Rick's belt loops, pulling his crotch flush with his ass and grinding back into it. Rick was suddenly very, very grateful that he didn't have neighbors. Not that he would've stopped Daryl from rubbing against him like that even if he did.   
  
“Bet you do, _Professor Grimes._ ”

“Tease.”  
  
“Dork.”

“Love you.” Rick popped him playfully on the ass. “Now get back to work. I'm paying by the hour, you know.”

“No you ain't,” Daryl protested. "'Sides, getting to touch the inside of a sixty-seven Mustang is payment enough.” 

“I don't get to help you in class. You don't get to fix my car for free. Only fair.”

“But I'm probably the one who broke her,” Daryl said, turning back toward him. 

“What was that?” Rick asked, hands over his ears. “You need to speak up, Daryl.” But he was already heading back to the shade of the porch. 

Daryl shook his head at him, smiling like he couldn't stop if he wanted to, and then he turned back to the car.

* * *

“She's done,” Daryl said, walking up the steps of the porch with his empty water bottle. He opened the green recycling bin opposite of where Rick sat and tossed it inside. Rick smiled at him, patting the empty place next to him on his porch swing and Daryl walked over, hesitating. “I'm all gross.”  
  
He looked down at himself. No matter what he was doing to an engine, he always ended up disgusting in one way or another. And the heat hadn't helped any. 

“I have a washing machine,” Rick countered. And so Daryl sat down and let Rick pull at him until he was laying back against him, his feet up on the bench and one of Rick's arms wrapped firmly around his torso. He nuzzled back against his lover's shoulder a little. 

“This come with the house?”

“The swing? Yeah.” Rick pressed his lips into Daryl's hair, kissing the crown of his head and inhaling deeply. “I missed you more than I probably should have.”

“Me too,” Daryl said. “I'd probably stay here and never leave if someone wasn't so damn insistent on me actually going to class.”

Rick laughed. 

“I just want what's best for you, little duck.” Rick stroked his sweat-laden locks, smoothing them down around his forehead.  
  
“Why do you call me that?” Daryl asked. “Not that I mind, but I've been meanin to ask.”

“You really wanna know?” Rick asked, thumbing lightly over his collarbone.

“Is it something stupid?”

“Very.”

“Something stupid about me, I mean?”

“Nope.” 

“Then okay.”

“After I fucked up that night in your dorm, I spent the next day getting completely shitfaced on wine and eating too much fudge ice cream.”

“Really?” He'd never imagined that Rick was just as worked up over it as he was. God, the idea of him being miserable like that over him shouldn't have made Daryl's heart sing, but it kind of did. Just a little. 

“Mhm. Shane came over and I don't even remember half of what I said, but I kept going on about how you were cute like a little baby duck. Honestly, I shouldn't get wine drunk ever.”

“That's ridiculous.”

“I never said it wasn't.”

“What else did drunk Rick say?” Daryl asked, trying to imagine Rick talking about him, his gorgeous honey-coated words slurring together.

“Nothing, nothing at all,” Rick lied, and Daryl could hear the smile in his voice.

“Oh c'mon,” Daryl said.

“Maybe another time,” Rick said. “I love you, but that one's real embarrassing.”

“Maybe I'll call Shane and ask him. Tell him I'll be on the archery team if he gives up the goods.” It was an empty threat. Daryl didn't have time, or rather he did but that extra time belonged to Rick now, and he'd always been more of a crossbow kind of guy anyway. Well, that, and he was pretty sure he'd used Shane's card to kill a spider and that the damn thing was already buried deep in some landfill somewhere.

“Shit,” Rick said. “That would probably work too. Please don't.”

“Fine. I'll let it go for now,” Daryl said, “but I have conditions.”

“Oh yeah?” Rick asked. “Like what?” 

“Let's see... I get to sleep here tonight, and uh...”

“Damn, Daryl, you're really twisting my arm here.”

“I want at least seven kisses.”

“Six,” Rick said.

“Twelve,” Daryl countered.

“Twenty-seven.” 

“Deal. You ain't very good at negotiating, Mr. Grimes.”

“Oh, no, I think I got what I wanted,” he said, maneuvering them so Daryl's head fell back naturally and Rick could kiss him from above, all slow and sweet, mouths working together like clockwork, like they were made to fit one another perfectly. “There's one. Do you have any other demands?”

“Just one,” Daryl said. 

“I'm listening.”  
  
Daryl took a deep breath, turned his head a little so he could hear Rick's heart thumping within his rib cage. 

“Take a shower with me, and then show me what's in that drawer.” Daryl said it casually, examining the car-fixing grime under his fingernails like what he'd said was as innocuous as a comment about the weather. He heard Rick's heartbeat gain a little speed in his chest. 

“Oh, darlin,” Rick said, voice dropping low. Daryl knew the tone well now—Rick's sex voice, and damn if it didn't work every bit as well as Rick thought it did. “Do you even know what you're asking for?”  
  
Daryl considered it, considered all the restraints and phallic-shaped things within the drawer. And all the other things he didn't even recognize but was infinitely curious about. He nodded once and answered.   
  
“The safe word is still, 'stop.'" 

Rick shifted and hooked an arm under Daryl's knees, and then he stood up, taking the younger man with him. Daryl had never been picked up by another man, hadn't been picked up at all since he was a kid. And knowing Rick could lift him up like that awakened something deep and primal and _hungry_ inside of him. Damn't if he didn't want to fucking growl.  
  
Rick sat him down at the bottom of the stairs, probably because he would've knocked Daryl's head on the wall the whole way up if he continued, and Daryl started up them, peeling his tank off on the way and tossing it back at Rick.  
  
“C'mon old man,” he teased, stopping just inside the bathroom to bend over and unlace his boots, stepping out of them and then working off his jeans. He glanced over and found Rick shirtless, pants casually undone, with one hand under the shower head testing the temperature of the water. It seemed like a bit of a crime that Rick wasn't fully naked yet, so Daryl reached over tugged Rick's pants down for him, letting his hands linger on the other man's thighs and kissing the little dimples at the small of his back.  
  
“Do you want to start now?” Rick asked. Shit, Daryl had wanted to start three hours ago when he pulled his motorcycle into the driveway and saw the way Rick's eyes glazed over with heat as he shrugged off his worn leather riding jacket.  
  
“Mhm.”

“Stand up,” Rick said, and Daryl did, letting his hands caress Rick's hips and sides on the way up. Rick turned around, gently grabbing Daryl's wrists and holding them, thumbing over the soft skin on the undersides of his forearms. “Here's the rule. You're not allowed to touch yourself or me in the shower, okay? Not unless I tell you to.”

Daryl thought about it, eyes wandering down Rick's gloriously taut body. But... 

“I'll make it worth it for you,” Rick said, leaning forward to press his nose into Daryl's neck. “I promise.”  
  
“Okay,” Daryl agreed, "I won't." And he let Rick tug him through the curtain and into the warm spray. It was a little awkward at first. Where was he supposed to put his hands if he wasn't allowed to touch anything? But Rick coaxed them behind his back and so Daryl clasped them together and left them there.  
  
“There you go,” Rick said. “Damn that is a pretty picture, Daryl.”

Daryl felt his cheeks going warm, but he didn't look away. Instead he followed Rick's movements as he leaned forward and kissed across the tops of his shoulders, adding a little bite here and there for good measure. 

“Like those, huh?” Daryl asked. Rick answered by sucking a little love mark onto the flesh above his right clavicle.  
  
“I dream about them,” Rick said, the words cool against Daryl's wet skin. “Then again, I dream about all of you.”

“Mm. Dream about you too.” 

Rick stopped to reach behind him, pulling a little blue bath pouf off one of the hooks of his shower caddy and lathering it up with plain soap.  
  
“Where should I start, darlin?” he asked, and Daryl looked down at his own cock, now standing at rapt attention, a little bit of precum pooling where the shower water couldn't quite reach it to wash it away.  
  
“No, definitely not there,” Rick said. “But nice try.” The older man stepped closer, purposely letting his thigh brush against Daryl's length for just the briefest of moments, and then he ran the lather down the dark grime on Daryl's right arm, coaxing his hands out from behind his back so he could wash everything from the muscular lines of his biceps to the spaces between his fingers.  
  
He did the other arm too, gently scrubbing at Daryl's skin until it was clean and fresh again.  
  
Daryl let his arms hang loosely beside him as Rick worked the soap over his chest and stomach, gently walking Daryl back a little more under the water so the lather would slough off on its own.   
  
“Where next?” Rick asked. Daryl knew better than to suggest his cock again, even though it was aching and twitching with want where it stood. He could see Rick's too, hard and red-tipped and neglected, and all he wanted to do was reach out and...  
  
He bit back a whine.  
  
“I...Legs?”  
  
Rick nodded and squatted down and Daryl couldn't help the little moan that came out when he did, because, fuck, that man's thighs... God, couldn't he just squat right down on top of one and rub his cock against it until...  
  
Rick gently coaxed Daryl's stance wider with his fingers, and then he bent down. He started at the younger man's left foot, swirling the blue mesh around on top of his toes before working soap all the way up his inner thighs, so close that the little pouf brushed right against Daryl's balls.  
  
That time Daryl did whine.  
  
“Patience,” Rick said, starting down the other side. “Go ahead and turn around and put your palms on the wall for me.”  
  
Daryl did, and he heard Rick's knees pop behind him as he stood up. He tried to look over his shoulder, but Rick grabbed the back of his head and pointed his eyes back toward the wall before he started gently washing all of the planes of Daryl's back, lower and lower and...  
  
Daryl let out a ragged breath, too caught up to even realize he'd been holding it in his lungs in anticipation.  
  
Rick gently kicked Daryl's knees apart, sliding the bath pouf in between the crack of his ass and gently ghosting it over his sensitive pucker, the soap slick and wet between his cheeks.   
  
“Fuck,” Daryl said, his cock giving a little leap. Shit, he was so damn close and Rick hadn't even really fucking touched him. Or well, he had touched him plenty, but not _there_.

Rick bent him over a little, gently prying his ass apart so the shower water could wash the soap away, tiny waterfalls cascading over Daryl's balls and down his legs. Daryl whimpered.  
  
“Rick,” he said, tone pleading. “I need... I can't...”

“Shh,” Rick said. “I'm not done.”

Daryl had half a mind to grab his cock and deal with the consequences. It would probably take all of one stroke to send him hurtling into sweet oblivion. Rick wouldn't even be able to stop him before he finished.  

“Kneel down,” Rick ordered, putting a little pressure on the tops of Daryl's shoulders when he spoke. Daryl slowly sank down onto his knees, still facing the wall. “Close your eyes and tilt your head back.”

He did, trying to ignore how good it felt as warm shower water swirled and ran off of his erection. Damn he was fucking desperate. 

Rick's fingers wove through Daryl's hair, and the younger man could feel the lather of shampoo, could hear the way the soap squished around as Rick massaged it into his scalp.  
  
Daryl's hips bucked slowly into the air, searching for anything, anything at all to rut against, but there was nothing but warm water and Rick's hands, which were currently nowhere fucking near where he wanted them to be.  
  
“I'm gonna die, Rick,” Daryl breathed out as Rick nudged his head back under the spray, soapy water running from his hair down his back. “I'll do anything, just please.”

“You'll do anything?” Rick asked, and Daryl's eyes flew open to meet his, stinging just a little at the water, but fuck if he cared. Just please...  
  
“Yes,” Daryl said, nodding frantically.  
  
“Then you'll wait.” Rick popped open the conditioner and tilted Daryl's head back again, brushing his fingertips over the younger man's eyelids to shut them. Daryl groaned.  
  
“I can't wait anymore. Please.”

“You have to,” Rick said. “You're doing so good for me, darlin. Just hold tight.”

Daryl bit his lip hard, unable to hold back a series of little whimpers as Rick worked conditioner onto the tips of his hair. 

Finally Rick stood him up, turned him around, and let him lean back into the water as he fingered through his sandy hair—a dark brown now that it was wet—to make sure everything had rinsed out. 

“Look at you,” Rick said, staring down at Daryl's cock, so full of need that the head of it was practically purple.  
  
“Rick,” Daryl said, voice at least a whole octave higher than normal.  
  
“I know, sugar,” Rick said. “Thank you for being so patient. Now, tell me how you want to cum.”  
  
Oh thank fuck finally oh God thank you.   
  
“I...” What were the options? Daryl's brain scrambled, desperately trying to take hold of any thought that wasn't just a loud, “Please!”

“Hands or mouth, sweetheart?” 

“Mouth. I don't even care, Rick. Fucking anything.”  
  
Rick squatted back down, and leaned forward, turning his head a little so he could slip right under Daryl's erection and take one of his swollen balls right into his mouth, gently rolling his tongue against the soft flesh inside of his mouth.  
  
“Oh fuck,” Daryl groaned, loud and deep. This was going to take all of two seconds. And sure enough, as soon as Rick moved his mouth and took Daryl fully between his lips, the younger man was done for. One bob up and down the length, and Daryl cried out, hands grabbing at Rick's waves and holding them tight as he shot off down his throat.  
  
Daryl leaned back against the shower wall, panting, his knees quivering. Rick stood up, swallowing very deliberately so that Daryl was fully aware that he'd done it. And then he grabbed hold of Daryl's chin and claimed his mouth in a hurricane of a kiss, their lips the frantically churning walls of the storm. And when he finally pulled away, Daryl felt impossibly more breathless than he had after he came.   
  
“Do you want me to...?” Daryl looked down at the older man's cock, still hard and weeping with need between them.  
  
“Nope,” Rick said, reaching over to cut the water off with a smirk on his face. “I'm not nearly done with you yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't tell who I tortured more writing this chapter: Me or Daryl.


	20. Chocolate

Rick watched Daryl walk down the hall towards his bedroom, trailing behind him and drying himself off. Daryl had a sand-colored towel draped low around his hips, the hem of it resting just below the dimples of his lower back. With every step, the fabric caught a little on the younger man's skin, giving Rick a glimpse of the gentle curve of his lover's ass through the cotton.  
  
Mmm.  
  
Rick let the soft cloth of his own towel ghost over his neglected erection and held back a moan. Even in the hallway dimly lit by sunlight that didn't quite fully reach, he could see Daryl trembling with nerves, his gorgeously cut back muscles tense with them.  
  
Rick reached out, closing the distance between them and running the tops of his fingers down Daryl's spine, making the other man pause in his step before he leaned a little into the touch. Rick planted a quick kiss on the back of one of his shoulders and nudged him forward into the opening to his room.  
  
“You alright?” the older man asked, watching Daryl sink down onto the edge of his bed, the towel gaping open to reveal one of his pale inner thighs. He nodded.  
  
“Trust you.”  
  
“Good,” Rick said. “Lay down.”

Daryl de-toweled and slowly pulled his feet up onto the bed, his whole body relaxing onto the mattress like he was trying to ease into a cold swimming pool. Rick could hear the way his shallow breathing shook with the rest of him. God, why were nerves like this always so beautifully sexy to witness? 

“Do you wanna pick your poisons today, or do you want the bartender to choose for you?” Rick asked.  
  
Daryl glanced over at the unopened drawer, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.  
  
“Just nothing too... too big.”

“Promise me you'll actually use that safe word if you need it,” Rick said, squatting down to open the drawer. “I won't be upset.”

“Promise.”

“I mean it. Do not let me hurt you. I love you, and it would kill me." He looked Daryl in the eyes as he spoke, making sure that Daryl knew. He'd probably go easy on him today anyhow, but he needed to know that no matter how rough things got in here, it was never meant to actually harm him. Daryl nodded, and repeated his sentiment from earlier.   
  
"I trust you." 

Rick turned back to the drawer and dug through his various restraints, ignoring the cold metal handcuffs he'd stolen off a campus security guard that he'd railed his senior year, opting to pull out a nice set of padded leather ones instead.  
  
He held them up, and Daryl put his arms together above his head without even being asked. Rick raised an eyebrow.  
  
“You really do want this, don't you?” he asked, smirking. Daryl's only reply came in the pliable way he moved as Rick bound his wrists to the headboard. Rick rewarded him with a kiss and then looked back in the drawer, almost full with all everything from the hardcore DVDs pushed against the back wall to the wooden paddle almost indistinguishable from the bottom of the drawer.   
  
So many options and such a damn beautiful boy to play with.

He moved things aside, smiling a bit at the toys he'd forgotten he even had. And then he saw something, and the corners of his mouth spread wide apart.  
  
Perfect.  
  
He picked up the little black jar and stood up, already unscrewing the lid and peeling away the little safety seal on the inside. God, he'd been dying to use this ever since Shane bought it for him as a joke. The beautiful bastard. 

Daryl looked at it with interest, his eyes occasionally darting away to look at Rick's body or his still-hard cock before going back to the object in his hand, rolling his lips together as he waited.  
  
“Do you like art, Daryl?” Rick asked, swirling his finger around in the contents.  
  
“What?” Daryl asked. "I guess. Depends." 

“What about finger painting?” Rick asked. Daryl's eyes snapped back to the jar in his hand, clearly trying to connect the dots. Rick drew a finger out of it, coated in thick light brown goo, and then he swirled it around the outer rim of Daryl's right nipple. 

“What is it?” Daryl asked.  
  
“Chocolate body paint.”  
  
Rick prayed it didn't taste terrible. He'd had enough awfully-flavored sex liquids in his mouth to last a lifetime, and nothing killed the mood like having to spit out a mouthful of mango lube while praying for a quick death before the evil that had clearly taken up residence on your tongue consumed you.  
  
Fingers metaphorically crossed, he leaned down and lapped at the circle, finding the perfectly sweet taste of milk chocolate waiting for him. Thank you, God and thank you, Shane.  
  
Daryl sighed, body arching almost imperceptibly toward Rick's mouth.  
  
“Such a beautiful canvas,” Rick said, darting his tongue across Daryl's nipple before taking it between his teeth.  
  
Daryl inhaled with a little hiss.  
  
“You wanna taste?” Rick asked before running a chocolate-coated finger down the center of his own tongue. He didn't wait for Daryl's answer before he kissed him, rolling the sugary cocoa across the muscle inside of younger man's mouth.  
  
“Not bad,” Daryl said when Rick pulled away.  
  
Rick responded with a gratuitous rake of his eyes over Daryl's entire body, “Not bad at all.” The younger man blushed.  
  
He swirled his finger into the jar a little more, opting this time to run it around the outside of Daryl's navel before cleaning it off with little kitten licks. He'd always loved chocolate. He enjoyed it on things and with things and just plain by itself in big hunks. Up until that moment, he thought he liked it best with peanut butter or maybe caramel, but now he was pretty sure his favorite flavor combo was chocolate and the faint salty taste of Daryl's skin.

The younger man's cock was already half-hard again, working steadily toward another erection with all the vigor of youth. Gently, Rick swirled a little paint around the ridge of the head. Daryl's breath hitched, the sound making Rick's own cock give a little jump.  
  
Not now. Not yet.  
  
He gave himself a mercy stroke, trying to calm down the dull ache of want before he licked and sucked the chocolate off of Daryl's flesh, feeling it harden a little more between his lips.  
  
“Your cock loves my mouth, doesn't it?” Rick asked, running a line of paint up the underside and following it with his tongue.

“Mhm,” Daryl said. “Only one it's ever met really.” 

“Their loss.” Rick coated Daryl's balls in cocoa, enraptured with the way the younger man's hips squirmed at his touch. He knew now that Daryl had never been treated right as a lover, and he couldn't even begin to understand why. Why wouldn't you go back to this for seconds? Thirds? Fifteenths? Hell, why wouldn't you just hold onto this forever and make it your own personal fucking buffet just like Rick damn well intended? Some men were fucking idiots.  
  
Rick grasped Daryl's now fully-hard cock in his hand, holding it out of the way so he could lick a line straight across the younger man's sack, the sound of Daryl's quiet moan hitting his ears like the first note of his favorite song.

“That's it,” Rick said. “Just enjoy it, sugar.” He pulled one of Daryl's balls into his mouth, gently sucking every bit of chocolate off, some chocolate-strained spit dribbling out onto his pristine white sheets, staining them with sugary brown. God, Rick loved making clean things filthy. 

“Shit, that's so fucking good,” Daryl sighed. And Rick's eyes snapped up at him. Daryl had never said more than a few “ah fucks” during sex without a lot of coaxing, and even then, it was always nervous and strained. Fucking hell, Rick didn't realize until just then how much he wanted his lover to fucking speak.  
  
“Yeah?” Rick sucked the other ball clean. C'mon sweetheart. Keep fucking talking for me.  
  
“Will you do that thing, the, uh, licking thing?” Daryl asked, and damn if Rick didn't very nearly shoot the fuck off.  
  
“This?” Rick pulled one of the clean balls back into his mouth and rolled his tongue back and forth over the flesh.  
  
“No, but-” Daryl groaned. “But, fuck, that's really good too. Everything you do is always good.”

“What is it then?” Rick asked. “What do you want, darlin?”

“When you licked up the whole thing...”

“Mhm.” Rick ran his tongue up the underside again, working it back and forth from base to tip, adding a little flick to the sensitive spot below the slit. 

“Yeah, fuck.” Daryl bucked slightly. “Will you, uh, will you suck it a little?”

Rick couldn't keep himself from moaning. God, it was good enough that Daryl was letting him play with his toys, but this...  
  
“Only for a minute,” Rick said. “Got a lot of things left to do to you.”  
  
“Okay,” Daryl agreed. And Rick took him between his lips, unable to keep himself from sucking Daryl almost all the way back into his throat, concentrating on relaxing his muscles so he could allow the younger man's length as far in as it could physically go.  
  
“Holy shit, Rick.”  
  
Rick hummed around the hardened flesh, finally gagging when Daryl's hips thrust up into his mouth of their own accord.  
  
“Shit, sorry, I didn't mean to.”

“You're okay,” Rick said, blinking away the little bit of water welling up in his eyes. “But that's as good a stopping point as any.” 

He picked up the jar of body paint from where it sat on the mattress and screwed the lid back on, already having a vision of another day where he tied Daryl up and painted nearly every inch of skin, teasing the young man to the brink of madness before finally fucking him until he groaned his name in wanton ecstasy. But that would be another day.  
  
Today... today they were going to _play_.  
  
Rick squatted back down, wiping a little ooze of precum away from his own cock before digging through his drawer some more.  
  
“What's that stick thing?” Daryl asked, the dam on the boy's words seemingly completely broken, and damn if Rick's ears weren't devouring every word with feverish hunger.   
  
“This?” Rick asked, pulling out a leather-tipped riding crop that barely fit in his drawer at a diagonal.  
  
“Mhm,” Daryl said.  
  
“You wanna turn over and find out?”  
  
Daryl eyed the crop warily, seemingly torn between curiosity and uncertainty, and then he rolled, the chains on the cuffs crossing over each other as he shifted onto his stomach.  
  
Rick gently placed it on Daryl's body, running the tip of it down the center of the younger man's back and brushing it over the crack of his ass.  
  
“Remember that all you have to say is 'stop,'” Rick said, and then he brought the leather tip down across one of Daryl's thighs—a light little pop just to test how the other man would react.  
  
Daryl's whole body jolted, head turning to the side to find Rick, his young blue eyes wide with surprise. Rick waited a moment, gently teasing the toy over the backs of Daryl's knees, giving his lover an opportunity to decide if this was something he wanted or not before continuing.

The surprise slowly melted off the younger man's face as he processed what had happened, and then he turned back over, pressing his face into the pillow and angling his wrists so he could grab onto the chains attaching the leather cuffs to one another, bracing himself for more. 

Rick smirked and gave him another lash, this one a little harder and right onto one of the pale white globes of Daryl's ass. Rick watched the skin slowly turn pink, watched Daryl rut just a little against the mattress, rubbing his cock against the sheets. His own hips bucked a little.   
  
“Stop that,” Rick said, giving him another pop. “Don't want you cumming yet. And when you do, you'd better damn well ask for permission. Understood?”

“Yes,” Daryl said, sound muffled by the pillow.

“Yes what?” Rick teased the underside of his balls a little with the leather.

“Yes, uh, _sir_?” Daryl asked, turning to look at him. 

“Mhm.” Rick spanked him again as a reward. “Sir or professor will both do nicely, don't you think?”

“Dirty fucker,” Daryl said, but he turned back over and waited for more. So Rick gave it to him, smacking him with the crop over and over until the skin of his ass was all a splotchy pale pink. 

“Damn, that's beautiful,” Rick said, leaning down and kissing some of the reddened skin. 

“Do you have anything you can put in there?” Daryl mumbled into the pillow, and it took Rick a startled second just to be sure that's what had come out of those now-loose lips. “I'm fucking dyin.”

“Well that wasn't very polite, Mr. Dixon,” Rick said, smacking both of Daryl's ass cheeks with hands and giving them a hard squeeze, prying them apart so he could glimpse the younger man's tight entrance. 

“Sorry,” Daryl said, the words dripping with sarcasm as he turned his head and craned his neck, narrowing his eyes at him. “Please, _professor_ , do you have anything you shove in my ass, _sir?_ ” 

The little shit. Rick struggled to keep the amused smile off his lips, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand in attempt to cover it up.  
  
“Got something you can shove in your mouth,” Rick said, unable to resist.  
  
“Bring it, old man,” Daryl challenged.  
  
Rick cocked his head to the side, looking at him, and then stepped forward, grabbing Daryl by the hair and forcing his face onto his cock, the younger man struggling to turn to the side with the cuffs on.  
  
“That what you want?” he asked, rolling his hips into Daryl's mouth. The younger man groaned around him, eyes fluttering shut, his tongue licking at what flesh it could reach. Rick pulled him on a little more, choking him on it once and then pulling out. He was too damn turned on to last more than ten seconds in there.   
  
“Why'd you stop?”

“Because I still want to fuck your tight little ass,” Rick said matter-of-factly, reaching down into his drawer and pulling out something small and black and curved. “You know what this is?”

“No.” 

“Do you know where it goes?” Rick asked.  
  
“Can guess.”

“I bet you can,” Rick said, grabbing Daryl's hip and turning him from his side back over onto his stomach. He teased the little black wand along one of the cheeks of Daryl's ass and then ran it up the crack. 

It took him a second to find his lube with the drawer all in disarray now, but he did, stroking it onto the toy while Daryl watched eagerly over his shoulder.  
  
“So fucking needy,” Rick said, reaching down to tease his hole with his finger. “Tell me how much you want this in your ass.”

“A lot.”

Rick cocked his head and raised his eyebrow as if to say, _That's the best you can do?_  

“Want it. Want you to fuck me with it.”

“Better. Keep going.”

“Want, uh,.. Jesus, Rick, just fucking put it in there already.”

“Needy, needy, needy.”

“I want it. Want your dick more. Want to be fucking fucked hard and good.” 

“Mhm, sugar,” Rick said. “I know you do. Can you get up onto your knees?”  
  
Daryl curled in a little, half-pulling and half-walking up onto his knees, resting on his elbows with his face on his forearms, still bound tight to the headboard with the leather cuffs.  
  
“Jesus, I wish I could take a picture of that,” Rick said, taking in the odd angle of Daryl's body and the beautiful way his back arched to accommodate it. “Better than any porn I've ever fucking watched.”

“And you don't even have to jerk off,” Daryl said. “Can fuck me right in the ass, Professor Sir.”

“God, why didn't you start all this damn blabbering sooner?” Rick asked. “Loving that filthy fucking mouth, Daryl Dixon.”

Daryl blushed and turned his face back into the pillow. 

“This,” Rick said, finally pushing the little object into Daryl's hungry hole, “is a prostate massager.”

“Mm,” Daryl said, pushing back onto it a little, the thin little wand fully sliding in easily. 

Rick added a little pressure and started working it so it would rub Daryl's sensitive spot in a nice little circle.  
  
The younger moaned quietly.  
  
“Yeah,” Rick said. “Happy you finally have something in there, huh?”

“You're better,” he said. 

“You'll get me soon,” Rick said. “Been aching for you since the damn shower, but I couldn't resist having a little fun.”

He worked the little object, tilting it to add just a little more pressure, delighting in the way Daryl's muffled groans hit his ears. 

“You know what's fun about this though?” Rick asked. “See, it comes with a few tricks that I can't really pull off.”

“Hmm?” 

Rick used his finger to flick on the little motor at the base of the massager and watched Daryl's entire body buck so violently that his back popped.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Rick,” Daryl said. “Fucking warn a guy.”

“But that's no fun.”

“Asshole,” Daryl said, just barely getting it out, the last syllable trailing off into a moan that seemed to go on for days. “Fuck.”

“You know I love that sound, right? Love hearing you enjoying yourself.”

Daryl moaned a little louder, and Rick wasn't sure if it was for his benefit or if it just really felt that good. Not that it mattered so long as his Daryl was having a good time. 

“Stop,” Daryl gasped out. And Rick immediately killed the motor.  
  
“Want it out?” he asked.

“What?” Daryl asked. “Oh, no, I didn't mean... Just if you wanna fuck me, you probably better, uh...quit.”

“I see,” Rick said, gently pulling the massager out and laying it on his night stand so he could clean it after. He slipped on a condom and grabbed the lube, slicking himself up and hoping the massage did enough to open Daryl up. “How about the safe word is 'Mustang'?”

“Mhm.”

Rick tested Daryl's hole with his fingers, fucking it loose and putting off the rest of it as long as he could stand, his own body's forgotten hunger re-awoken as soon as he touched himself.  
  
“I'm good,” Daryl said, realizing what Rick was doing. “Just fuck me. Nice when it hurts just a little anyway.”  
  
Rick put the blunt tip of his cock against Daryl's loosened pucker and pushed in with a little groan.

“You know how hard it is to wait for you like that?” Rick asked.  
  
“Didn't have to,” Daryl said.  
  
“Yes I did,” Rick said, bottoming out. He didn't even have to wait for Daryl's body to adjust, already so relaxed and ready with the massage. “You know how fucking hot your back and shoulders are from this angle?”  
  
“You know how hot your all of you is all the fucking time?” Daryl said, pushing back onto him with a little grunt. Rick smiled.  
  
“Sometimes in class, I want to pull you out of your seat, bend you over the desk, and claim you in front of everyone in there.” It was one of the myriad of fantasies Rick had going in the back of his mind constantly.  One of his top ones along with making Daryl finger himself on the table at the front of the lecture hall while he jerked off onto his face.

“Sometimes in class-” Daryl cut himself off with a moan, and Rick could just tell he'd bitten his lip even though he couldn't see it. “Sometimes in class, I want to suck your cock behind the podium, make you go on and on lecturin about the middle ages and shit while you try not to groan my name.”

“Jesus, Daryl.” If only that podium would actually fucking hide him...

“I'm sure Maggie would let me borrow her notes if she got to watch you sweat.”

“What else?” Rick asked hungrily. 

“Wanna know somethin, professor?”

“Yes.” Rick wanted to know fucking everything if that was the kind of shit it was gonna be. He grabbed Daryl's hips, pumping harder, his abs showing themselves a little as he worked. 

“After that first class, I dreamed about you.”

“Yeah?”

“Dreamed I'd turned in a blank essay, but then it changed 'cause dreams, you know... And you had the essay right there in your hand, all this dirty shit about you written on it.”

“Oh fuck,” Rick said, digging his fingertips into Daryl's flesh, pounding him so hard their bodies were slapping together and Daryl could hardly finish the damn story between his moans and "ah fuck"s.

“Shit about how I wanted to suck you off in front of everybody.” Daryl had the chains of the cuffs in his hand again, white knuckling them as he held on for dear life and bucked back into Rick's movements. “So you undid your pants for me and let me do it. And then you fucked me right up against the podium.”

“Daryl,” Rick groaned, his whole body tight and on edge, and Jesus Christ. 

“Woke up sticky and covered in my own cum.”

“Oh fuck,” Rick cried out, emptying into Daryl with his head thrown back. He left his cock in Daryl's ass and reached around, stroking and pumping before he lost his erection. He felt the familiar sensation of Daryl's oncoming orgasm, and then the younger man came too, right onto Rick's sheets beneath him, a little white streak covering the chocolate stain from earlier. It wasn't until after it was over that Rick realized he'd forgotten to make Daryl ask and beg for it. Oh, well. Another time. 

Rick pulled out and fell onto the mattress next to him, reaching up to unbind the cuffs as Daryl panted his exhaustion into the sweat-moistened pillow.  
  
The younger man turned over, and the two of them rested side by side for a minute, catching their breath and bathing in the afterglow of a glorious fuck.  
  
“You owe me two dollars by the way,” Daryl said.  
  
“Hmm?”

“For those sheets. Dorm laundry ain't cheap.” 

Rick laughed and let his fingertips seek out Daryl's hand, too hot to hold him yet but still wanting to touch him all the same.  
  
“You didn't make that up, did you?”

“Nope. Thank fuck my roommate was already gone. Fucking embarrassing. Had to waddle to the damn bathroom and everything.”

“Like a baby duck.”

“Fuck you.”

“Just did,” Rick said with a smile, and Daryl reached over to pop him on the arm.  
  
“Ass," Daryl said, his fingers playing with the dip below Rick's sternum. 

“Just so you know,” Rick said. “You'd have failed, but I would've really enjoyed getting an essay full of all the things you'd like to do to me.”

“Maybe I'll write you one,” Daryl said. “How I'd Like to Fuck Professor Grimes and Why by Daryl Dixon.”

“One thousand words due Friday,” Rick said. “And then I'll nail you on my desk after the GSA meeting.”

“Shit,” Daryl said. “That a promise?”

“Hmm. Pass your history test too. Priorities.”

Daryl rolled his eyes and shifted a little closer as the heat left their bodies.  
  
“By the way, you still owe me, what, twenty four kisses? Twenty three?”

“Cashing in?” Rick asked, already shifting to the side and moving his hand toward Daryl's chin. 

“Mhm.” Daryl leaned forward and pressed their lips together, neither one of them unable to keep from smiling as their mouths melted together.  
  
“I love you,” Rick said, fingering through Daryl's hair, still damp with water and sweat.  
  
“I love you too,” Daryl said, yawning and taking another kiss. “Fuck, now I'm sleepy.”

“That's because you're an adorable duckling,” Rick teased.  
  
“Go to hell.”

“How about you rest,” Rick said, kissing his forehead and pulling away. “I'll make us some dinner and then come get you.”

“What you makin?”

“Pizza from the place down the street.”

Daryl snorted and snuggled into the pillow, closing his eyes even as he shook his head, a content little look on all his features. 

“I love you,” Rick said again, because he just couldn't hold it in at the sight of the younger man so comfortable on his bed. No, their bed. It was theirs now, and Rick knew it. Just like Rick's heart and the Mustang, in his mind the bed belonged to the other man now just as much as it belonged to him.   
  
Daryl's answer was a soft smile that Rick had to watch from start to finish before he could bring himself to turn away and grab some clothes, leaving his gorgeous sex-worn lover to rest while he got things ready for a cozy night in. 


	21. Stay

Daryl sat on the couch leaned back against Rick's chest with one of the older man's hands resting loosely on the right side of his rib cage. Two dirty plates sat on the coffee table, both bearing the remnants of a meal in their own ways. Rick's still had little spongy pieces of pizza crust on it while Daryl's merely had a few swirls of stray sauce that he hadn't managed to sop up with his finger. 

“Jesus. How many brownies have you eaten?” he asked, looking up at Rick who had about half of one stuffed in his mouth, his cheek puffed out a little to accommodate it. Like a sexy chipmunk. Rick struggled to swallow the bite, looking over at the box. There had been ten in the container of chocolate chip brownies from the pizza place. There were two left.  
  
“Uh, how many did you have?” Rick asked.

“One,” Daryl said.

“Oh.” Rick frowned at the brownie in his hand for a second, then shrugged and finished it anyway. 

“Them other two are mine,” Daryl said. “Damn chocoholic.”

“Fine,” Rick said. “Be that way.”

Daryl rolled his eyes and snaked his own hand across his torso, finding Rick's fingers and lacing them together. 

“You ever talk to Dr. Kemp?” Rick asked, licking the fingers of his opposite hand clean. “Been meaning to ask.”  
  
Daryl looked away and shook his head, his stomach immediately starting a little downturn toward guilt. He'd been avoiding thinking about it, been hoping Rick wouldn't bring it up. Thing was, he should have, but...

“Why not?” Rick used his now brownie-free hand to play in Daryl's hair. 

“It's stupid,” Daryl said. It was too. God, he was still such a fucking idiot sometimes.  
  
“Going to talk to her is stupid or?”  
  
“No, it's just that callin people is...kinda hard.” Daryl's free hand went to his mouth, his teeth working at the skin around his thumbnail. “I'm sorry.”

“Hey, hey,” Rick said, petting his hair a little more intensely and squeezing his hand. “It's alright. Tell you what, come by my office Monday after class, and I'll hold your hand while you call her. Or hell, I'll even call her for you if you need me to. Not like she'd know my voice.”

“You're not mad?” Daryl asked, looking up at him.

His dad had always screamed at him for this shit. Once, when he'd worked graveyards, he'd stumbled in half-asleep in the morning and asked Daryl to call the water company and ask for an extension on their bill. Daryl had spent all day staring at the corded house phone on the kitchen counter like it would come to life and strangle him. When he finally managed to pick up the receiver, he'd gotten so worked up about the idea of having to talk to whoever was on the other end of the line that he'd very nearly vomited. 

When his dad had woken up, he tried to explain that he just couldn't do it, and he was rewarded with a verbal lashing that left him cowering against the wall, the entire phone unit shattering against the cheap wood paneling about an inch from his face.  
  
“Why would I be mad at you for something like that?” Rick asked.  
  
“Because it's dumb, and I'm such a stupid piece of shit for it, and I'm so sorry 'cause I said I would and you deserve somebody who isn't-”

“Hey, whoa, _easy_.” Rick cut him off, shifting their positions so Daryl had to sit up. He didn't look at him until Rick grabbed his chin and nudged his face toward his. “Where'd that come from, sweetheart?”

“Just, it's only a phone. It's so damn ridiculous that I can't...”

“Shh.” Rick pressed his lips to his for a brief second. “You're not stupid, and you're not a piece of shit. Look, darlin, I love you, and I want you here in my life with me. And I will gladly make every phone call for you for the next eighty years if that's what you need to be happy.”

“I'm sorry, Rick.” 

“Daryl, you don't have anything to be sorry for.” Rick pulled him back against him, holding him close. Daryl could feel his eyes burning, and he tried to force the feeling away, but he couldn't. And the next thing he knew, he was leaking water onto Rick's tee shirt. He didn't deserve this, any of this. As much as he'd been trying to forget it, he was still so damn fucking broken. And Rick was so perfect and beautiful and put-together. Why did he even want him like this when he could probably take his pick of any man in town?  
  
He willed the tears away, trying to stop before Rick noticed, but attempting to choke them down only made him cry harder until he was all-out sobbing in Rick's arms.  
  
“Sorry,” he choked out.  
  
“Shh,” Rick said, stroking his back with his fingertips. “Get it out, darlin.”  
  
Daryl cried even harder, holding onto Rick like it was the only thing keeping him grounded, and maybe it was. He felt Rick's hands everywhere, soft and gentle and loving.  
  
Jesus, why couldn't he quit? He was getting tears and snot all over his boyfriend, and he couldn't fucking quit.  
  
“I c-can't stop.”

“You don't have to,” Rick said. “Life's been a real asshole to you, Daryl. I'm sure you've got plenty to cry over.”

Daryl's next sob echoed a little off the walls. No one had ever actually encouraged him to keep crying. It was always a string of negativity—sissy, pussy, worthless fag. And that always came with the inevitable follow-up: Keep it up, and I'll give you something to cry about. 

“I'm here,” Rick said, lips brushing his temple. “I know you think all these things about yourself, Daryl, but they're bullshit.”

Keep talking. Jesus, please... 

“I remember that second day in my class. When your hand went up, God, you were so cute. I wanted you to know the answer so bad, was praying you did when I called your name.”

Don't stop. 

“Was so proud of you when you did, and not the way I usually am when students get stuff right either. And then I just kinda knew... That's the day I told Shane about you.”

Daryl's body finally calmed a little, and he struggled to catch his breath, his face still buried in Rick's chest. 

“You don't think you're good enough, but you can do almost anything when you're determined. And you're funny and smart.”

“Ain't smart.”

“Yes you are. All that wit you use when you're talking to me? Those little things you pop back at me with that make me laugh so damn hard—that takes intelligence, Daryl. Hell, you patched a Mustang with a fucking undershirt.”

Daryl trembled a little, tears still slowly flowing out onto his cheeks. Rick nuzzled him just a little. 

“I always thought it was funny that you don't think you deserve me when you deserve infinitely better than what I can offer you.”

“No I don't.”

“You do. You don't know it, but you do. You are a remarkable, entrancing human being, and if I have to spend every day for the rest of my life convincing you that you're worthy of every ounce of love in my heart, I will do it with a smile on my face, because it means that I get to have you.” 

Daryl finally peeled himself away from Rick's chest and looked up at him, not even flinching when Rick gently thumbed the tears off his face. Rick offered him one of the napkins from the pizza place, and Daryl wiped his nose, sniffling a little.  
  
“You love me,” Daryl said. He'd heard it and read it and felt it a million times now, but now it seemed even more real than it had the night the Mustang broke down. Rick nodded and then leaned forward to rest their foreheads together.  
  
“I love you,” Rick agreed.  
  
“And you'll help me?”

“With anything you need until the last breath I ever draw.”

“Can I do my laundry here?” Daryl asked, because he needed to say something to change the air in the room. Rick let out a soft little “ha” and shifted his head so he could kiss him, a loving kiss that demanded nothing. 

“You can move in for all I care.”  
  
“Might get a little risky with the carpool.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Rick said. “But you know, we've only got to hide until the end of the semester. Once you're out of my class, it doesn't matter anymore.”

“I'm ain't sure what you're saying.”

“Just thinking out loud,” Rick said. “We can talk about it closer to Christmas.”

“Hmm,” Daryl said, re-situating himself into Rick's lap and resting his head on the older man's shoulder. He sat still, letting Rick hold him and touch him softly. And then the word “Christmas” came flying back at him like a mack truck running a red light. His eyes shot wide and he sat up sharply, looking back at Rick. “No.”

“What's wrong, sugar?”

“Christmas... I can't...” I can't go back there. Not now that I know what life can be like without being screamed at and threatened every day. Not now that I know what it's like to have people say “Dixon” without disgust oozing out along with it. 

“Can't what?”

“I can't go home. I can't go back to that town or to...”

“You don't have to,” Rick said.

“I do. He'd come get me and drag me home, Rick. He pays for half my shit. He wouldn't just let me go like that. He...”

“He doesn't own you,” Rick said. “Just because he's doing something a father should do doesn't mean you owe him your life, Daryl. Or your sanity.”

“He'd stop paying for it. I'd have to drop out.”

“No you wouldn't. We'd manage.”

“We?”

“We.”

“It's too expensive, Rick. I can't let...”

“I want to. It would make me happy knowin you're free from people who hurt you.”

“You don't owe me that,” Daryl said. “Shit, you've given me too much already.”

“It's not about giving you anything,” Rick said. “It's logic for one thing. I have every intention of never letting you go, and we'd be better off financially if you had a degree and the job to go with it. Of course, if you'd be happier without one, we'd manage then too.”

“And when you decide you don't want me anymore, and you've wasted all that money?”

“And _if_ anything happened between us that ended things, well, then I'd at least know you had a good chance.”

“What's the catch?” Daryl asked.  
  
“The catch?” Rick shook his head. “I don't have to worry about what that bastard is doing to you for a whole month. Well, that and I get the joy of your face being the first one I see every mornin.”  
  
Daryl chewed on his lip. He couldn't actually do that, could he? He looked around at the living room, at the house he'd already started feeling more at home in than he ever had anywhere else before, and then at Rick, who was waiting patiently. Always so patient with him when it was called for.  
  
“You can think about it,” Rick said. “I know it's early for this, even if it doesn't feel like it.”

“Yeah,” Daryl said. “I'll...”

“Let's just get that phone call taken care of first, huh?”

“Just feels like I always need you and you never need me,” Daryl said. Because really he'd needed Rick all along. The panic attack, the first time they'd had sex, this... Hell, he'd even needed him for studying. 

“You have no idea how much I need you,” Rick said, pulling Daryl to him just a little tighter. “Not all needs are easy to see, Daryl. Doesn't mean they aren't there.”  
  
“Thank you,” Daryl said. “For even offerin.”

“It's not just an offer,” Rick said. “It's something I _want_.”

“Mm.” Daryl rested his head back on Rick's shoulder. He could do it. He could move in with Rick and never have to see his dad again. He could move in and be safe. He could wake up in Rick's arms every single morning, spend hours in the driveway tinkering with the Mustang with the comforting weight of Rick's eyes on him while he did.  
  
But the idea letting Rick pay for his school on top of supporting him still didn't quite sit right, and he couldn't tell if it was pride or if he simply didn't want to trade one owner for another, even if this one was loving and benevolent and only doing it to help.

He'd think about it. He'd try to figure out how to make it feel more like a partnership than a dependency. Maybe he could find a shop to work at part-time. Maybe he could clean and cook. Get some more scholarships. He had time to check into things, after all. Maggie would help him. 

“Bed?” Rick asked softly, still petting Daryl's back.  
  
Daryl followed Rick to the guest room, the older man declaring he wasn't in the mood to change the sheets tonight, so screw it.  
  
“I'll do it,” Daryl offered. But Rick had already pulled off everything but his boxer briefs and crawled under the black and white damask comforter. He held out his arms, so Daryl stripped too and crawled in, cuddling up against his warmth, their bodies interlocking like the two halves of a zipper—inseparable until pried apart.

“Love you, little duck.” 

“Love you too, chocolate chip.”

Rick laughed softly and then settled in. It wasn't long before his breathing deepened, and Daryl knew he was asleep. 

Maybe it was the nap he'd taken or maybe it was all the stuff on his mind, but Daryl stayed awake, staring at the wall and listening to the soft noises of Rick's dreaming. This could be his life every single night if he wanted. This could be his home. If he let it. If he worked for it...  
  
Rick let out a soft noise, a little “nn” sound, and then he squeezed Daryl against him a little harder.  
  
That. He could have that every day. He sighed, counting the little swirl patterns in the picture frame on the wall in a futile attempt to calm his mind.  
  
The first rays of morning had already started turning the world outside a pale blue before Daryl finally joined his lover in sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll be seeing some of our other favorite characters again soon. Promise.


	22. Blood Money

Daryl made a point of knocking on his own door these days. That way, if Glenn and Maggie were up to anything less than wholesome, they could scramble under blankets. It kept Maggie from being so embarrassed that she wouldn't meet his eyes when they talked, and it kept him from having to see his best friend's butt.  
  
Which had totally happened, by the way. It was a nice butt as far as girl's butts went, Daryl supposed, but still... He shuddered.   
  
“Comin in,” he announced, unlocking the door. But there was only Glenn, sitting at his desk so immersed in his game that he hadn't even heard him.  
  
He scrambled to pause it, pulling the huge over-the-ear headphones off and letting them rest around his neck like the world's most uncomfortable travel pillow.  
  
“You're back,” he said, smiling. “Have fun?”

“Mhm.” He'd had a lot of fun other than his little breakdown. Getting to work on the Mustang, whatever that shower was, discovering that he liked being spanked (a lot), pizza, brownies, waking up late and making soft sweet love in the guest room before he made himself crawl onto his bike and head back to the school...

“You got a letter,” Glenn said. “I put it on your desk.”

Daryl walked over to his side of the room, depositing his bag and his bike helmet in the desk chair before picking up the envelope. 

 _Merle Dixon_  
_#12221989_  
_Woodbury State Correctional Facility_  
_1239 S. Hwy 144  
_ _Woodbury, GA 30369_

On the back was a little red stamp that simply said “Approved.”

Daryl ripped one side of the envelope off and pulled out a single piece of lined notebook paper covered in his brother's hideous scrawl. 

_Squirrel,_

_Hope your doing good in school. Real proud of you baby brother. Keep telling all the other boys about you up there in North Carolina banging college chicks. I know you didnt ecsactly wanna go but at least you aint in some jail in buttfucknowhere sweating your balls off while some Mexican stares at your ass like its dinner. Fucking spic should have been sent home stead of throne in jail if you ask me._

_I do got a nice ass tho._

_You got a girlfriend yet? Send your brother a picture because its getting damn loneley in here if you know what I mean._

_And tell our good for nothing dad I could use some $$ for smokes since the basterd never rights me back._  
  
_Love,_  
_Merle_

Daryl folded the letter back up and let it fall to his desk again, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Over two hundred and fifty miles away, and his brother could still manage to give him a fucking headache in less than five minutes. 

“Anything important?” Glenn asked. Daryl looked over and shook his head.  
  
“Nah, just my idiot brother. Fucking dumbass.”

“Hmm.” Glenn stood there, sort of fidgeting and rocking on his feet. Daryl couldn't tell if he'd read the return address and was curious, or if he wanted something else entirely. 

“You need somethin?” Daryl asked.

“I just wanted to see if you...” 

“If I?”

“It's just we're both seeing people right now, and I thought it might be cool if we all four went out to-”

“No,” Daryl said, a little too aggressively. Glenn flinched, and Daryl scrambled to try and save it. “Sorry, it's just he's...”

“A secret,” Glenn said. “Maggie told me you wouldn't be into it, but I just thought I'd ask anyway. I thought maybe you'd trust- never mind.”

Daryl sighed. Great.

“It ain't you. It's that I have to protect him. It would ruin his life if it got out.”  
  
“I wouldn't tell anyone,” Glenn said.

“Maggie knows and that's already one person too many,” Daryl said. “If I could go back and not tell her, I might.”

“Yeah,” Glenn said, frowning. “I just don't get it. Is he a preacher's kid or something? Politician's son?”

Daryl snorted, trying to imagine his kinky chocoholic of a boyfriend being forced to sit in a church pew every weekend. God, as many of those alleged rules as they'd been breaking, Rick would probably catch fire as soon as he walked through the door. Then again, so would Daryl. 

Glenn sank down onto the edge of Daryl's bed, frowning a little harder. Some part of Daryl was struck with the overwhelming urge to tell his roommate the truth, but the part of him that wanted to protect Rick at all costs was even stronger, swallowing the other urge down until it was like it had never even existed.  
  
“I'm hungry,” Daryl said. “Wanna see what Mags is up to and grab some food?”  
  
Hopefully Maggie could could wipe the frown off Glenn's face and alleviate a little bit of the awkward guilt Daryl felt at upsetting him.   
  
That, and Daryl really was hungry. He'd had one of the two brownies they hadn't eaten last night for "breakfast" at around one in the afternoon, relenting and giving the other to Rick after being subjected to a full-on pout that had shot well past one hundred on the adorableness scale. He hadn't eaten anything since, and some salty, greasy french fries sounded really good to him right then.  
  
A few minutes and one phone call from Glenn later, the three of them sat at a table tucked away in the corner of the dining hall. Daryl had literally gotten an entire plate full of french fries and was ignoring Maggie's insistence that he at least eat some sort of vegetable.  
  
“Potato is a vegetable,” he grumbled, dipping it in ketchup and holding the red-tipped end in her face. “And look. Tomatoes.”

She rolled her eyes and took a bite of salad.

“Daryl, Maggie, I thought that was you two over here."   
  
Daryl looked up, but he knew who it would be before he even did. That voice was as familiar in his life as almost anyone's by now. The two of them had practically fallen into a partnership at the garage, always teaming up when they were both present, quietly passing each other wrenches and rags and flashlights.  
  
“Hey, Aaron,” Daryl said, smiling a little because Aaron was too, and that boy had a smile as infectious as a pop song.  
  
“Eric's headed over. Can we join you?”  
  
Daryl answered silently, moving his stuff over to make room as Maggie said, “of course.”

“This is Glenn by the way,” she said. “Daryl's roommate. My boyfriend.”

Aaron shook Glenn's hand. 

“Aaron.”  
  
“Do you guys all have class together or something?” Glenn asked. 

“No,” Aaron said. “We're all, uh...” He looked at Daryl and Maggie. Right. First rule of the GSA was that you never outed someone as being a member. 

“He's cool,” Daryl said. “You can talk about it if you want.”  
  
“We're in the GSA together," Aaron explained. 

“Oh, right. Maggie's told me all about that,” he said. “I would come, but my mom pretty much forced me to join the Korean heritage club. Same meeting time.”

“It's okay,” Aaron said. “Maybe you can come to some of our events.”

“Yeah, you can be my date to the Drag Ball,” Maggie said.  
  
“Thought I was your date to the Drag Ball,” Daryl teased. Shit, did he ever think he'd have a life that involved going to a Drag Ball? Hell, he wasn't just going to go either. He was actually looking forward to it.  
  
At the movement of Aaron's head, Daryl looked back over at him. The other man had turned his face toward the door, and his smile was slowly going wider, showing two rows of perfect white teeth. He raised his hand up a little to like he was trying to make his position known, and a few seconds later, Eric got to the table and gave him a kiss on the cheek.  
  
Daryl was mesmerized by the whole thing. Was that how he looked at Rick? With blue eyes so love-drunk that they seemed like they might somehow get arrested for public intoxication?

“Maggie Greene!” Eric said, leaning down and hugging her to him tight. He turned back around to see who else was at the table. “And Daryl too.” He couldn't reach him for a hug, but Daryl had the feeling that he would've gotten one also if he could have. Not too long ago, that would have bothered him. He would've been worried about who might see him and what they might think. But now he was just a little disappointed that he hadn't sat on the outside. Because as new as he was to friendly acts of physical affection, he was really starting to like them. 

“You haven't gotten food yet?” Eric asked, looking down at the empty table in front of his boyfriend.

“Waiting on you,” Aaron said, standing up and following him off toward the buffet area. 

“Are they?” Glenn asked. “Because if they're not, then they really should be.”

“They definitely are,” Maggie said. “For a long time now.”

“Good.” Glenn took his last sip of Mountain Dew and stood up, grabbing Maggie's cup so he could walk off to refill both of their drinks. 

“Have a good weekend with him?” she asked, taking advantage of the fact that she was alone with Daryl at the table for a fleeting moment.  
  
“Yeah,” Daryl said. “Too much to talk about now, but I'm gonna need your help.”  
  
“With?”

“There's a bunch of stuff I haven't told you, things you need to know before I can even begin to explain.”

“Whatever you need, you-” Maggie's eyes shot up to the space behind Daryl, and she fell quiet immediately, sitting up straight. It wasn't a way she'd react to Aaron or Eric, and it certainly wasn't a way she'd react to Glenn. Daryl couldn't bring himself to turn around. 

“Well, my, my, you are a pretty one.”

Daryl's entire body went rigid, freezing where he sat. No no no no no. This had been seeming like such a great dinner so far, the proverbial cherry on top of his perfect Sunday. Please no.  

Daryl turned around slowly, praying that he'd somehow heard that voice wrong. But no, Will Dixon stood behind him, tall and looming and looking very out of place in a college dining hall with his leathery skin and the little flecks of gray in his hair.  
  
“Dad, what are you doing here?” Daryl asked. Fuck. There were two openly gay men who were probably going to come around the corner so obviously in love with each other at any minute, and... Oh God. Daryl dug his fingernails into his palms. Keep it together. If you lose it now, you're fucking done for. He'll kill you right here in front of everyone.  
  
“You weren't in your room. Figured you might be here. Man's gotta eat.”  
  
“Right.” Daryl turned away, closing his eyes and trying to steady his breathing, imagining Rick's voice in his head, calming and soothing.  
  
“Didn't realize I was interruptin a date though.” He clapped Daryl on the shoulder. “Not bad, son.”

Daryl looked over at Maggie who was keeping her mortification down to an almost imperceptible level, God bless her. No one would be able to tell but Daryl (and maybe Glenn). 

“I'm Maggie,” she said, stretching her hand out toward him cautiously, like she was offering it to a hungry wolf. “Maggie Greene. Daryl's told me so much about you.”

That was bullshit, of course. He _should_ have told her. Then maybe she would've been a little more prepared for this situation. But he never had. She didn't know jack shit about his dad other than what she was probably figuring out right now, which was likely a lot given that Maggie's brain was a pretty remarkable one. 

Please don't let Aaron and Eric be holding hands. Please.  
  
“Uh...” Glenn was back with the drinks now, his path to the table blocked by Daryl's father.

“Dad, this is my roommate, Glenn.” 

“Your roommate hangs out with you and your girlfriend?” But Will moved a little, giving Glenn just enough space to get back to the table.

“ _His_ gi-” Glenn grunted, and Daryl knew that Maggie had likely just kicked him under the table. 

“It's not just us,” Maggie said. “Actually if you'll excuse me for just a minute, I think they may have gotten lost.” She stood up gracefully and slipped past Daryl's dad, moving in a way that Daryl had never seen her—lithe and slinky. It seemed almost... seductive. 

Will Dixon seemed more than a little flustered by it, and then Daryl understood. She'd seen the fucker for what he really was and was distracting him long enough to find the other two and tell them there was a damn snake in the tall grass.   
  
“How long you and that little piece of ass been going at it?” Will asked, pulling up a chair and adding to their already crowded arrangement. He saw Glenn grip his spoon a little too tightly next to him, but that was his roommate's only reaction.  
  
I'm so sorry, Glenn. I owe you a case of Mountain Dew after we get through this. Two even.   
  
He considered telling the truth, that Maggie wasn't his girlfriend, but then it'd just lead into a painful conversation about how many dates he'd been on. That, and if he let his dad keep thinking he was with Maggie, he'd be a lot less likely to notice the sheer amount of gay leaking off half the people sitting at the table, including his son.

“Met her the first day of class. Don't remember exactly. Just one night we were studying together, and then it wasn't studyin anymore.”

“Here your Uncle Jess kept tryin to tell me there was a rumor going around that you were queer.” Will looked back at Maggie, approaching with Aaron and Eric in tow. Someone seemed to have found Tara too, because she was currently hanging off of Eric, looking very attached to him. If Daryl hadn't known better, he would've sworn the two of them had to be banging on a daily basis. 

God, Daryl would have laughed at how ridiculous the idea of Tara and Eric was if he wasn't so fucking afraid of this whole illusion falling apart.  
  
His dad eyed his not-girlfriend in a way that made Daryl want to vomit. And in that moment, he became one hundred percent settled. He was not going home, not ever. Even if it meant living under a fucking bridge, he was never going back to anywhere that also contained Will Dixon.  
  
“Need me to pull you up a chair, Tara?” Aaron offered.  
  
“Nah, A-A-Ron, I'm good,” she said. And as soon as Eric sat down, she plopped down right in his lap. “You must be Daryl's dad.”  
  
“Will Dixon,” he said, offering his hand, his eyes flicking to her breasts and back to her face.  
  
Jesus Christ. None of them were ever going to want to talk to Daryl again after this. They would know now, just like everyone back in Georgia knew: Daryl was trash who came from trash, and that was all he could ever be.  
  
“Tara Chambler,” she said, and she had to be the only person at the table seemingly unintimidated by his father. “And this little snookums here is my Eric.” She nuzzled his nose.  
  
“You could do better,” Will said bluntly.  
  
“You might think that,” Tara said, “but that's because you haven't seen his dick.”

Aaron choked on his water, coughing violently into the elbow of his plaid shirt. 

“Fair enough,” Will said with a chuckle. "Damn, I love a woman with a mouth on her."  
  
Gross.

“What are you doing here?” Daryl asked again, calming a little now that he knew everyone was on board with whatever this was. Even if he would probably lose them all after. “What do you want?”

“A man can't visit his son without wanting something?”

Sure. A man can, but not you.  
  
“Sorry,” Daryl said, leaning against the wall next to the table. He wasn't entirely sure if he was somehow trying to break through it and escape or if it was just that there were currently seven people at a table meant for four. Probably both.  
  
“Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

There it was. From anyone else's dad, it would have been innocent, loving even. But Daryl knew what it really meant: _I just wanted to check on my investment._

“Glad to see you're making friends too,” he said, his eyes lingering longer on the females than they should've. “Just hope they aren't keeping you from working hard.”

“Mostly know 'em from class and clubs—things employers like, you know?”  
  
“What clubs?”

“Auto club. Aaron's the president. We're in the garage together a lot.”

Aaron gave a little wave. 

“How are your grades?” Will asked, reaching over to take some of his son's french fries. Daryl scooted the plate closer to him. He wasn't even hungry anymore.  
  
“Good,” Daryl said. “Passing.” Like he would've told him if he wasn't. He'd rather at least have time to prepare for the backlash than have to take it here in front of most of the people he cared about.

“That's my boy,” Will said. He reached in his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He laid a ten down on the table, and then pulled out a nice, crisp one hundred dollar bill. 

“That one's for laundry,” he said, scooting the ten closer. “And this one's so you can treat Miss Greene here to a nice night out. A lady deserves to be treated.”

Daryl looked at the two bills on the table. The idea of taking any more money from his father made him sick. He was done with it and done with him. He scooted them back. 

“Professor paid me for fixing up an old Mustang for him. Don't need it.”  
  
He looked his father in the eyes. Will Dixon squinted at him, and Daryl could feel the cool anger seeping off of him, even with Glenn's warmth acting as a buffer between them. His father slapped his hand down on top of the money, so hard that the silverware and everyone except Tara jumped. And then he scooted it back, balling the bills up in his fist.  
  
“I see,” he said, his knuckles whitening around the cash.   
  
“Merle said he needs money for smokes. Send it to him.”

“Ain't sending shit to your brother,” Will said. He stood up, and Daryl could feel the tension radiating from his skin—invisible but cancerous. He couldn't help but feel like he was only safe right now because there were half a dozen witnesses. “He lost his chance. Best learn from his example and hold onto yours.” He gave Daryl a significant look of quiet rage, and then he violently tossed the crumpled up money right in Daryl's face and walked away. 

Daryl exhaled like he was resurfacing from a long swim underwater. Everyone sat in silence, the weight of the soundlessness slowly closing in on him. They were going to all get up any minute and walk away. He just knew it.  
  
“I'm so sorry,” he said. Because he didn't know what else to say.  
  
Tara scooted from Eric's lap into the vacant seat left by his dad and picked up the money, smoothing it out on the table.  
  
“Yours hit you too?” Tara asked, so casually, like it was a normal thing to discuss at dinner. Daryl looked over at her, rolling the ten over the side of the table to get out the worst of the wrinkles.  
  
“Once,” Daryl said. “Yours?”

“I lost count.” She shifted, lifting up the bottom of her shirt and revealing a series of angry pink scars. He reached out and touched one, suddenly feeling like he didn't even have the right to hate his father so much. His beating had resulted in bruises all over his butt and thighs and lower back, but he didn't have a permanent reminder of it like this. 

“I'm sorry,” he said.  
  
Tara turned and pulled her shirt back down.  
  
“Didn't show you so you'd be sorry,” she said. “Showed you so you'd know you didn't have to be. What just happened wasn't your fault.”

She got up, taking Daryl's fries with her, returning with a fresh plate that hadn't gone cold and soggy, that hadn't been tainted by that fucking asshole's hands. 

“Thank you,” he said. “All of you. Maggie...”  
  
“Is that what you wanted my help with?”

“Kind of. R-The boyfriend offered to let me move in after semester ends. So I wouldn't have to go back to my dad's.”

“Daryl, if that _man_ is what you're trying to get away from, I will perform a blood sacrifice to the devil himself and forfeit my damn soul.” Maggie looked at him fiercely, reaching over to squeeze his hand. 

“What do you need help with?” Tara asked. “We can team up. Team D-MEAT.”   
  
“D meat?”  
  
“Daryl, Maggie, Eric, Aaron, Tara.”

“And Glenn,” Glenn said. 

“Gee, thanks for messing up my acronym, asshole,” Tara joked, like she hadn't just met Glenn ten minutes ago in the most uncomfortable fucking situation ever.  
  
“Need to find more money so I don't need his,” Daryl said, and he wasn't entirely sure if he meant his dad's or Rick's... both, really. He stared down at the bills on the table, the green-tinted faces of long-dead men taunting him, and then he scooted them toward Eric.

“I don't want it,” Daryl said. “Put it in the GSA fund.”

“Don't you think you should save it?” Eric said. “So you can use it to get away from him?”

“Not taking any more of his money,” Daryl said. “Just take it. Guy's a homophobic asshole. Take it so I can tell him on his death bed what I used the money for.”

Eric nodded and grabbed the bills, sliding them into his pocket. Someone's phone gave a little ding, and Daryl looked around for the source.  
  
“Me,” Tara said, holding up her phone emblazoned with a little vinyl Motormouth Mabel sticker. “My aunt works in the financial aid office. She's free all day Tuesday. More than happy to talk to you about your options.”

“Really?” Daryl asked. He looked around at everyone sitting at the table, and that's when it really hit him that they were all still there. No one had gotten up and walked away. No one had made a hasty excuse to leave. 

“You should talk to Dale or Professor Adams too,” Aaron said. “Auto department has a few scholarships for students who show a lot of potential.”

“I'll look everywhere I can,” Maggie promised. 

“I'll help her,” Glenn said.  
  
“Team DG MEAT for the win,” Tara said. “God, your name couldn't start with a J, could it?” she asked, looking at Glenn. “Or an O. Do meat!”

“You can use my last name,” Glenn offered. “We can be Dr. Meat.”

Tara laughed. 

“This one's yours, right?” she asked, looking at Maggie.  
  
“Yep, he's mine alright,” Maggie said, reaching over and touching his hand. For a minute, her eyes glinted with a hint of that same look Aaron gave Eric, and Daryl knew it was only a matter of time before she loved him.  
  
“Nice catch,” Tara said. “Dr. Meat, it is.”

The group had a long discussion, going over different avenues they could look into, munching on french fries and cookies and carrots. They talked until the clock on the wall and a stern look from one of the staff told them it was time to vacate, and then they all walked out together, sitting on the steps of the student center in the crisp fall air.  
  
The discussion shifted since they'd exhausted every avenue they could at this hour, and they talked about whatever they wanted—class, the latest episode of Game of Thrones, the Drag Ball, Eric's dick.

“So, how long has Professor Grimes been adviser?” Maggie asked, and Daryl perked up a little to listen.

“Oh, Professor Grimes,” Eric said with a little sigh. Daryl bit back a little surge of jealousy. Eric was just mooning over him the same way Daryl had always secretly mooned over that guy who played Dean Winchester on Supernatural. No big deal.

“Stop it,” Aaron said, nudging him with his elbow. “Eric restarted the GSA the year he started working here. Thank God Grimes started teaching my sophomore year. I've heard things.” 

“Was sort of by chance,” Eric said. “Was out at Bounce with Francine and Tara, and Francine saw him at the bar and said, 'Hey, that's my history professor.'”

“So I went over and asked him since Eric was too chickenshit to talk to Mr. Handsomeface, and Francine was terrified he'd fail her or something,” Tara said.

“And then you made out with Francine on the dance floor,” Eric said. 

“That's not a relevant part of the story, snookums,” Tara said. “But yes, yes I did.”  
  
“He's been good to us.” Eric leaned back onto Aaron's shoulder. “Anything we need, he's always been there. I've never had his class, so I've never quite understood why people are so afraid of him.”

“He's a hard ass,” Daryl said. But only because he loves history more than any normal human being ever should. It had been the love of his life, really... until Daryl came along. 

“I'd fail even if the class was easy,” Eric said. “How do you even concentrate in there?”

Daryl felt a little like it was a trap, but, no, that was silly.

“He's okay looking, I guess,” Daryl said, shrugging like he couldn't reconstruct Rick's entire image in his head in two seconds flat. “If you're into that sort of thing.”

“Into what sort of thing?” Aaron asked with a smile. “Men in general?”

“Daryl's just trying to act casual,” Maggie said. “Should have seen him first day of class, stumbling all over himself. It was precious.”

“Stop it,” Daryl said. He might be with Rick now, but that was still an embarrassing moment in his life that he was happy to forget.

“No one blames you, I promise,” Eric said. 

“I'm going to drag Glenn over there so we can talk about girls,” Tara said, pointing to the opposite side of the stairs. 

“Hey,” Aaron said in mock offense. “I'm not invited?”

“Bisexuals welcome if they leave their Rick talk behind them,” Tara said, but she didn't go anywhere. 

Instead she led the conversation back to other things, talking about setting up a meeting time for Team DR MEAT to share their “findings.” And then the conversation went back to Eric's obsession with baking cupcakes, the new LGBT exhibit at the art museum, 67 Mustangs, Eric's dick again.  
  
Daryl sat there on the steps with his friends well-past when his eyes started getting tired, enjoying the ebb and flow of conversation around him. He talked when he had something to say (and they listened). He laughed at every joke easily too, holding back nothing. And by the time he walked back to Monroe Hall with Glenn, it was like his father hadn't just been there a few hours ago at all, like Will Dixon was already a distant memory from some other life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go Team DR MEAT!!


	23. Aim, Pull, Fire

Daryl sat in the waiting room for the financial aid office, looking around at the stark white walls. It had been a long two days.  
  
He and Rick had called Dr. Kemp the day before, Rick holding his hand while he forced himself through it. She'd had a lucky opening at four and squeezed him in, and he'd left her office a little after five with a prescription slip in his hand and instructions to make an appointment with the secretary for two weeks later so she could monitor the medicine's effects after it had time to build up in his system.  
  
It might not be the right medicine for him. It might be too much. They would just have to see.  
  
Today, he had to meet Tara's aunt and talk about his options for the future. He had already gone through every brochure in the little display rack while he waited, and he was staring at a single worn copy of an old _Cosmo_ sitting on the table and seriously considering it.  
  
Why was the financial aid office's only reading material a damn _Cosmo_?  
  
He had to wonder if some student hadn't just left it here and no one had bothered throwing it away.  
  
“Mr. Dixon?”  
  
Another student trailed out of the inner offices when the woman opened the door. Daryl took a note of her appearance—short and thin, but with hair that definitely put him in the mind of Tara, down to the way she wore it back with two little pieces out to frame her face, though hers was a lot less loose than Tara's usually was.  
  
He followed her back to cubicle in the center of the large office and sat down at a hard little chair in front of her desk.  
  
“I'm Tina Bianchi, Tara's aunt. She didn't tell me much about your situation, but she seemed very adamant that I try to help you out.” It took a long pause finally turning into an uncomfortable silence for Daryl to realize that was a prompt.

“Uh, well, my dad pays for a lot of my school, and I don't wanna have to deal with him anymore. Just tryin to figure out what my options are for payin for it on my own. More scholarships and shi-stuff.”

“You can say shit,” she said, whispering the last word. “I'm used to it. Tara's my niece, and her mother's a lot worse than she is.”

“Right,” Daryl said.

“Student ID?”

“1061969,” he said robotically, and she typed it in, staring at her computer for a few minutes, working some stuff out on her calculator. Daryl fidgeted in his seat, waiting for her to finally look back at him and give him the verdict. 

“Well, some of your grants would go up. If your GPA stays around where it is, there are a few scholarships I know about that you might be eligible for. Some loans too, but I really try to keep students away from those if they can help it.”  
  
“No,” he said. He'd seen how his family members had fared under the weight of debt, and he wasn't eager to acquire to much of it himself—maybe a small car loan someday to buy some gorgeous fixer-upper he just couldn't resist, but not tens of thousands in student loans.  
  
“Wise,” she said. She typed up an information sheet and printed off some stuff about scholarships and deadlines and passed it all to him, binding the stack with a single lime green paper clip first.  
  
“Thank you,” he said.  
  
She handed him one of her cards too and scrawled her personal phone number on the back.  
  
“If you have any questions, just call or e-mail me, okay? I'll keep my eye open for anything else that might help you. Sometimes outside organizations send us information on scholarships.”

“Thanks again,” Daryl said. He clutched the packet close to his chest and walked toward the door that led back into the waiting room. Someone from the outside pulled it open right when he got there, and he slipped through without even looking, muttering thanks. 

“It's Daryl, right?”

Daryl stopped and turned back. It was Rick's jock buddy, dressed a little fancier than he usually did, decked out in slacks and a blazer today, his Nikes traded out for a pair of shiny black shoes. 

“Shane.”

“Mhm. Paying off the rest of your tuition or something?” 

“Or something.”

“Something like?”

Daryl sighed. 

“Easy,” Shane said. “Just trying to have a conversation.” He looked around. “Besides, once you and Rick get past your little just-fell-in-love fuckfest, I reckon the two of us are going to have to get to know each other at least a little.”  
  
Daryl blushed and looked down at the carpet. 

“Just seein if I could get some more scholarships. That's all.”

Shane's face broke into a little smirk that slowly widened into a full-on mischievous smile.

Did he know? Did he know Rick had asked him to move in and, more importantly, did he know why? Why the fuck was he smiling at him like that? 

“You never did answer me that day in Rick's office,” he said. “Have you ever pulled a bow?”  
  
What the fuck?

“More of a crossbow guy. Huntin and shit.”

“But you _could_ do it with a regular one?”

“I could.” 

“How often do you think you'd miss?” Shane asked.

“I don't miss.” It was true. He might not get a heart or a head shot every time, but he always hit _something_. 

Shane smiled again, like they were playing some sort of game of cat and mouse and he knew he had him right between his large paws.  
  
“Archery team hasn't done anything worth jack shit in years,” he said. “They're the only sport I have that isn't doing at least decent. University's been riding my damn ass, and I'm sick of hearing about it. You come try out and prove that you're as good as you say, and I'll make sure you get a full athletic scholarship.”  
  
“What?” 

No, seriously... What?   
  
“I need that team to get better. They are fucking killing my otherwise impeccable record, Daryl. Do me a solid as a friend of a friend.” 

There was no fucking way this was happening right now. There was no fucking way.

“What, uh, what comes with a full athletic scholarship exactly?” Daryl asked. 

“Full tuition and books. Dining plan. We don't do your dorm, but we do pay the difference between Monroe and Blake if you'd rather live there.”

It had been years since Daryl had shot his uncle Jess' bow, but he still remembered every step exactly right down to the point where he released the arrow. Yeah, he preferred a crossbow, but if a damn regular bow could solve most of his problems...  
  
“When are you free?” Daryl asked. Shane gave him another card and told him a time and location, and then he headed into the financial aid offices to do whatever it is he was going to do, probably work out scholarships for some other athlete. Before the door closed and hid him from view, Daryl could've sworn the bastard was nearly skipping.

* * *

  
Shane put his shiny black shoes up on Rick's desk, wearing that sly little smirk that always made Rick want to throw a book directly at his face.  
  
“What did you do?” Rick asked. “Or who?”

“Saw your boy today,” Shane said, looking more than pleased with himself.

“I hope that's not your answer to 'or who,' Shane.”

“Financial aid office. Said he was looking for more scholarships.”  
  
Rick knew that, of course. Daryl had said as much yesterday after the phone call. Rick had held him for a while, told him how proud he was for doing something that he knew wasn't easy for him. Daryl had told him all about his dad showing up, how there was no way he could go back there. And he'd accepted the offer Rick had made over the weekend. 

“Yeah. He's probably moving in with me after semester. Bastard dad's not going to support him after that. But he doesn't want me to support him either.” Rick wished he would just let him, because that's what people who loved each other did, and he knew Daryl would have done the same for him. But he understood his lover's reluctance too.

“Well, I reckon it's taken care of now,” Shane said. 

“What?”

“He's still got to try out, but he said he's good, and I have a feeling he's not the type to lie.”

“He's not.”

“Then I reckon it's taken care of,” he said again. 

“What did you do?” Rick asked.

“Finally got him to sign up for a sport, that's all.”

“You...” 

The gears all clicked into place and, Jesus, Rick really should have thought of that before. Just like any university in America, Alexandria threw more money at athletes than anyone else, and Shane had practically been jizzing himself at the idea of getting Daryl on a team ever since he'd seen him.  
  
Rick pushed away the little jealous part of him that was upset that Shane got to help Daryl and he didn't. Because it wasn't Shane, not really. It was something Daryl could have done all on his own if they'd only realized it was an option.  
  
“You didn't offer him anything you wouldn't offer anyone else, right?” Rick asked, because he knew if Daryl ever found out he had, he'd be pissed.  
  
“No,” Shane said. “If I have to hear Mrs. President bitch about the fucking archery team one more time, I'm going to let them use her for target practice. If he's as good as he claims, then I probably didn't offer him enough.”

“What?”

“Well, normally I'd fight for one I really wanted. Take him out to lunch. Offer him some free tickets to a game or something for him and his parents. Try to reel him in. But your boy doesn't need reeling. Knows a good deal when he hears it.”

“What's covered then?”

“Pretty much everything if he's got a place to stay.”

“Thank you, Shane,” Rick said.

“Didn't do it for you,” Shane said. “Happy for you both and all, but I did it for the department and, more importantly, for me.”

“I know,” Rick said. “But thank you anyway.”

“No, thank you, brother,” Shane said. “Wouldn't have met him and those arms if it wasn't for you, and if that fucker even hits the target during his tryout, I might cry.”

“When's he trying out?”

“Thursday.”

“Well, good luck to you both,” Rick said. “Just... if he doesn't get it, call me so I can be there to remind him it's not the only option.”

“He'll get it,” Shane said. “I can feel it.”

“I hope you're right.”

* * *

Daryl met Shane on the rear side of the student center after texting him (after texting Rick and asking if Shane had texting) and telling him he had no fucking idea where the hell he was supposed to go.

He followed Shane through the giant sprawling athletic areas of the campus—tennis courts and fields for softball and soccer—the looming football stadium in the distance marking the boundary of it all.

He let Shane lead him to a little grassy field on which he'd sat up five different multi-colored targets. At the center of each target was a yellow bulls-eye, ringed by orange, then light blue, then black.

A bow and a little quiver of arrows waited for him too, and Daryl picked up the bow, stretching the bowstring and testing how it felt in his hand. Shane offered him a little wrist guard, and he pulled it on just in case. 

“Whenever you're ready,” Shane said, standing off to the side of him, but giving him his space.  
  
Daryl grabbed an arrow and rolled it over in his hands. If he did this, it would be over. If he made this team, he'd pretty much be set.

So no pressure or anything. He took a deep breath and loaded the arrow, willing his hands to stop shaking. Aim, pull, fire. 

The projectile slammed into one of the black outer rings, lodging into it with thunk. Daryl frowned, but beside him Shane gave a little whoop.  
  
“Don't cheer for that, asshole,” Daryl said, looking over at the man beside him who looked as giddy as a toddler on Christmas morning. Damn, how bad was this fucking team? “Gimme a sec. Just warmin up.”

Shooting in general had always been a second-nature thing for him. He preferred his crossbow, liked the quiet lethality of it opposed to the loud crack of a gun, but he could aim and shoot just about anything with decent accuracy once he got a feel for it. 

His uncle had called him a natural-born hunter once, someone just meant for a life that required finding and killing your own food.  
  
He aimed another arrow and closed his eyes for a second, imagining that all he was doing was getting ready for a hunt. Just a little target practice to get a feel for this new bow before he traipsed off into the woods with it. He opened his eyes and grabbed another arrow, loading and aiming, this time letting his instincts fully take over. The bow became an extension of himself, just another limb of his body. And he worked with it as easily as he could make a fist with his hand. Aim, pull, fire again.  
  
One hundred percent pure yellow sunshine bulls-eye.  
  
“Aha!” Shane practically danced.  
  
Daryl ignored him and picked up another arrow. One by one, though he had a feeling it wasn't remotely necessary, Daryl dead-centered every single target.

“If Rick wouldn't probably murder me for it, I just might kiss you.”

“Guess I made the team then?” Daryl asked, trying to ignore the little part of him that said “mmm” at the idea of kissing Shane. Never _ever_ gonna happen, but sometimes the less logical part of his brain didn't give a shit. He briefly wondered if Rick had ever wanted to go there. 

“You kidding? You're the new fucking captain.”

“Does, uh, does the scholarship start next semester or...”

“Mhm. Archery is a spring sport. We'll have to get you into a fall one if you want to keep your scholarship for then, but we can look into things you might be interested in. I imagine there's got to be something else you'd be good at.”

"Do you do that for other athletes?"

"What? Make sure they keep their scholarship both semesters so they don't drop out and go to a rival school?" Shane asked. "Yes, I do."

Daryl nodded, handing the bow and guard over to him, trying to contain the weird feeling bubbling up in side of his chest. Rather than coming all at once like he'd imagined in his daydreams, the excitement and relief welled up slowly. 

I'm free.

I don't have to go back. 

“Reckon you should go celebrate now,” Shane said. “Rick's probably pacing around in his office waiting to hear how you did.”

“Don't tell him,” Daryl said. 

“Nah, I know he'd rather hear it from you.”

“Thanks,” Daryl said, turning around to take off. 

“Hey,” Shane said, stopping him. “Only gonna say this once because I ain't had the opportunity to yet...”

“Hmm?” Daryl asked, and Shane stepped closer, clearly trying to intimidate him with his size. The older man looked him dead in the eyes, something fierce and dangerous glinting there for a brief moment. 

“You hurt him, and I'll fucking destroy you.”

Daryl looked at the other man, sizing him up and assessing the potential adversary. Not that it mattered. He'd never hurt Rick, not on purpose. He squared up his own body before responding.

“Goes for you too,” Daryl said. “You hurt him, and I'll put an arrow right in your ass. You know I won't miss neither.”

Shane smiled at him all wide and bright, and then—and Daryl never would've expected it in a million years—he pulled him into a hug, nodding at him after Daryl slipped out of it. 

“You keep making him as happy as you have been and me and you are gonna be just peachy, brother.” Shane clapped him on the shoulders with both hands. “I'll be in touch closer to Thanksgiving about your scholarship contracts and all that good shit.”

Daryl nodded and muttered thanks before taking off, all of the excitement and relief finally washing over him in full. There. There it was. 

I'm fucking free and I never have to sleep under the same roof as that asshole again. I get to live with Rick. Oh my god, I get to _live_ with _Rick_. 

An endless future stretched out before him—one with Mustangs and soft kisses and hot sex and a fuckload of chocolate. He'd never thought he would have a future that didn't involve his dad breathing down his neck, but now he did, and he had it with a person so kind and special that Daryl was surprised he even existed at all, let alone that he wanted to exist with him. 

He moved a little faster, breaking into a jog, unable to stop the little snort he let out when he realized Shane definitely wasn't going to put him on the track team anytime soon, not with his little pigeon-toed run. But it wasn't important, because as long as his feet were carrying him toward Rick, it didn't matter how they moved.


	24. Tweed Jacket

Shane had been half-right. When Daryl found Rick in his office, he was indeed waiting to hear how he did at the tryout. But he wasn't pacing—far from it, really.  
  
Daryl knocked and got a muffled “come in,” and then he slipped into the small room and shut the door, locking it behind him.  
  
“Oh good Lord, Rick.”  
  
Rick sat, hunched over his desk with one of the styrofoam containers from the dining hall in front of him. He'd seemingly filled it to the brim with brownies, though half the container now held nothing but crumbs. Jesus, that man had a problem. Daryl reached over and pulled the half-eaten one out of the older man's hand and took a bite.  
  
“Well?” Rick asked, swallowing and sitting up straighter.  
  
“Mhm,” Daryl said, finishing off the brownie and sucking thick fudge icing off his fingers. He pretended not to notice the way Rick watched him work every digit clean. “All set now 'cept gas money and shit.”  
  
“So you're for sure not going back then?” Rick asked.  
  
“Never.”  
  
“Shane and I need to go with you one day to get your stuff?”  
  
“Don't have anything worth getting back there,” Daryl said. “Brought the shit I care about with me.”  
  
Really the only things he'd left behind were clothes even worse off than the shit he'd brought with him.  
  
“We should celebrate,” Rick said, closing the styrofoam container. “Will you let me take you out to dinner seeing as it's a special occasion?”  
  
“Guess so,” Daryl said. He'd miss Auto Club tonight, but he'd live. “Just...”  
  
“Just what?”  
  
“Just not hungry yet.” Daryl looked Rick over, his eyes admiring the way his slacks hugged his thighs where he sat. Shit, Daryl was almost as addicted to those legs as Rick was to fucking chocolate. And speaking of chocolate, that single little unnoticed brownie crumb resting on Rick's crotch looked pretty damn tempting.  
  
“Maybe you will be by the time we get there,” Rick said. “Gonna drive over to Charlotte so I can take you somewhere decent.”  
  
He stood up and started gathering his things, and Daryl put his hand on the older man's forearm to stop him. Dinner was great and all, but that wasn't the victory dance Daryl was personally hungry for.  
  
“Maybe we should work up an appetite first,” Daryl suggested. He waited and watched for the words to sink in, and they did, the corners of Rick's gorgeous lips curling up slowly.  
  
“I see.” Rick set his things down and took a step toward him, reaching out to put his hands on Daryl's hips, thumbing the bones there through Daryl's tight black shirt.   
  
“Mhm,” Daryl said, “Now we're cookin with gas.” Daryl reached up and ran his fingers through Rick's hair.  
  
“You know we'll have plenty of time to do this later, Daryl,” he said, already backing the younger man into his desk.  
  
“You don't seem to be stopping.” Daryl scooted the container of brownies way over to the side so they wouldn't become an unfortunate casualty of whatever was about to happen. God, he couldn't imagine Rick's face if they lost a half-container of brownies. Pure devastation, probably.  
  
“No, I guess I don't.” Rick leaned in and pressed a kiss to the spot right behind his lover's ear, moving his mouth to suck on Daryl's ear lobe before licking up the outer curve of his cartilage.  
  
Daryl mm'd quietly and put his hands on the desk for support, feeling pens and paper shifting beneath them. He glanced over to see what he was putting in disarray and found a blank test paper that had to be for one of Rick's other classes. A naughty little idea popped into his head, and he picked up the paper, holding it up so Rick could see it.  
  
“I have a real problem here, Professor Grimes," Daryl said, looking at the essay question about twentieth century inventors with mock confusion. "I reckon I don't know any of these.”  
  
Rick's eyebrow shot up, and then realization dawned on him, and he let out an involuntary noise from somewhere in the back of his throat, just a quiet little whimper of a “hnh.” He pulled at the collar of his white button-up, and Daryl wasn't sure if he was already playing along or if it was genuine.  
  
“That's... That's very unfortunate, Mr. Dixon.”  
  
“I'll lose my scholarship if I fail this final. Can I maybe take the test later? I just ain't had time to study, is all... Had a long night.”  
  
“No, I'm afraid you can't take it later. You should have made time, and you should have started before last night.”  
  
“Please. I'll do anything you want, sir.” Daryl bit his lip and did his best puppy dog eyes.   
  
Rick took a step back and looked Daryl over from head to foot, his eyes dark and predatory in a way that Daryl had never seen him--the closest thing he had to compare it to was that night in his dorm room, but even then Rick had never looked at him like _this_. He made a little motion for Daryl to spin around for him, so the younger man turned in a circle, and God, he could just _feel_ Rick eyefucking every inch of him when he did.  
  
“Anything?” Rick asked, hands already sliding across Daryl's shoulders and down his biceps. The professor ground his body into his, and Daryl couldn't stop himself from moaning softly.  
  
“Yes. Please.”  
  
“You gonna keep quiet about whatever deal we work out, Mr. Dixon? You wouldn't want me to lose my job when I'm doing such a nice thing for you, right?”  
  
“Yes, sir. Uh, no sir?”  
  
Rick shifted them around so that he was against the desk instead of Daryl, and then he slowly undid the leather belt around his own waist.  
  
“Wh-what do you want me to do exactly, Professor?” Daryl asked, but he was already licking his lips in anticipation.   
  
“Oh, I think you know,” Rick said, undoing the zipper and reaching inside to pull his cock out of the opening. God, he was fucking hard for this, the dirty fuck. And leaking already too. Daryl pulled the desk chair up behind him and sat down, leaning forward and admiring just how turned on his lover was. He wondered if there were any other games they could play in the future that would get Rick this hot.  
  
“You just gonna look at it, Mr. Dixon, or do you want to pass this class?”  
  
Daryl leaned forward and flattened his tongue against the slit, lapping at the arousal seeping out of the other man. Rick sighed quietly.  
  
"This ain't the first time you've sucked a cock is it, darlin?"  
  
“This'll get me an A if I do this, right?” Daryl asked, gently massaging his lover's balls.  
  
“It'll get you a B minus, and you'll fucking thank me for it when it's over.”  
  
“That's bullshit.”  
  
“Beggars can't be choosers, now can they?” Rick asked. “Now open up that pretty little mouth and show me how much you wanna keep that scholarship.”  
  
Daryl tried his best to glare convincingly and parted his lips, letting the head of Rick's cock slide between them.  
  
“Shit,” Rick hissed. “You know you're the hottest guy in any of my classes? Been wanting this for so long.”  
  
Daryl responded by flicking his tongue against the sensitive little place on the underside of Rick's cock before taking it all the way in, letting it hit the back of his throat until he gagged on it.  
  
“Yeah, that's it, you gorgeous little shit. Fucking choke on that dick.” He wove his fingers through Daryl's hair, taking two fistfuls of short sandy locks and tugging Daryl's head onto him. Daryl moaned quietly around him.  
  
“Yeah, you wanted this too. Bet you came in here fantasizing about it, hoping this was what you'd have to do to pass.”  
  
Daryl grabbed hold of Rick's thighs, mhming around him. And it was mostly true. Daryl had definitely been wanting to fuck around, still riding his high from making the archery team.  
   
“Gonna fuck your mouth now. That what you want?”  
  
God please.  
  
Rick used his hands and little bucks of his hips to slide in and out from between Daryl's lips, thrusting into the younger man's throat until Daryl shoved him away so he could take a few gasping breaths. Fuck, this was so fucking hot.  
  
“Stay,” Rick instructed, going to dig around in his file cabinet for a minute and coming back with a condom and lube. But he didn't come back to where Daryl stood. Instead, he sat down in one of the stiff armless chairs in front of his desk.  
  
“Come here and take your pants off.”

Daryl walked around the desk and did as Rick said, shimmying out of his jeans and forcing them over his boots.  
  
“Underwear too,” Rick said, and so they went.  
  
“What are you gonna do to me?”  
  
“Well first,” Rick said, “you're going to sit on my desk there in front of me, and I'm going to squeeze a little of this on your fingers, and you're going to fuck yourself with them while I watch and jerk off.”  
  
Jesus fucking Christ, Rick.  
  
“Y-yeah..okay.”  
  
“Okay, what?”  
  
“Okay, sir.”  
  
Rick jerked his head toward and desk and Daryl hopped up on it, holding out his hand while Rick tore open the lube with his teeth, squishing some out onto his fingers. Daryl slowly pulled one leg up, the treads of his boot catching on the wood while he contorted himself so he could reach his ass. He did as Rick instructed, fingering himself and opening his body up while the other man stroked his cock, slow and smooth and sensual--like the jazz music of masturbation.  
  
“Look at you,” Rick said. “Fucking beautiful like that.”  
  
“You too,” Daryl said. “I bet... Bet you were hoping I'd fuck up in your class so you could do this to me.”  
  
“Oh, I can't say I haven't taken a lot of long showers thinking about this, Mr. Dixon,” Rick said. “Especially when you wear that tight black shirt. I want to cum all over that thing.”  
  
Daryl glanced down at the black long-sleeved shirt he currently had on. Man, Maggie had really known what she was doing with this thing.  
  
“Yeah, well I want to jerk off into one of your stupid tweed jackets,” Daryl said.  
  
“That right?” Rick let go of his cock and leaned forward, grabbing his jacket off the desk where he'd ditched it next to the brownies. “Show me.”  
  
“What?” Shit, he hadn't expected to...  
  
“Do it.”  
  
Daryl pulled his fingers out and reached forward slowly, waiting for Rick to say he was just kidding or something, but he didn't... So Daryl took the jacket from his hand. The light blue tweed itself was rough and scratchy and definitely not something he wanted on his dick, so he turned it inside-out and wrapped the silken lining around his cock instead, rutting into a little. God, this was so fucking dirty. Then again, he had started it.  
  
“Mmm. Keep going.” Rick wrapped his hand back around himself, clearly trying to match whatever rhythm Daryl had with the jacket. So Daryl gave him a better one, stroking the soft fabric against his skin with a nice steady up-down flow.  
  
“Can you do both?” Rick asked.  
  
It took Daryl a second for the question to register and process because he still had Rick's jacket wrapped around his cock, but then he got it, nodding slowly. He switched to his other hand and used it to hold the fabric in place while he reached down and slipped his fingers back inside, working himself inside and out.  
  
“Perfect,” Rick said. “Tell me how it feels.”  
  
“Soft,” Daryl said, practically groaning the word. “Feels fucking good. Want you.”  
  
“Do you now?” Rick asked. “And what do you want?”  
  
“Want you to fuck me, Professor.”  
  
“Want me to fuck you how?”  
  
“Want you inside of me. Want your cock deep in my fucking ass.”  
  
“I think that can be arranged,” Rick said, already working the condom package open, rolling it on and lubing himself up.  
  
“Come here. Bring that jacket with you.” Daryl pulled his fingers out and stood up, jacket it in his hand. He walked over to Rick who sat in the chair, fully ready to go.  
  
“Have a seat when you're ready, Mr. Dixon.” Daryl bit his lip and put his hands on Rick's shoulders, a little awkwardly with the jacket in one, but he managed anyway. Using the older man's frame for support, he slowly slid down, letting Rick guide himself inside of him, the feeling of pressure and fullness making Daryl sigh in relief.  
  
Oh, yes.  
  
“When you get ready to cum,” Rick said, “I expect it to be into my jacket. Understood?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“Let's get this off,” Rick said, pulling the black shirt over his head and throwing it back onto his desk, a few papers fluttering to the floor. “Hot as fuck on you but I don't want anyone asking questions.” Daryl nodded, rocking softly until he got over the initial feeling of Rick inside of him.

“Do I get to pick where you finish?” Daryl asked. “Only fair.”

“You forget who's in charge here?” Rick gave his tiny pink nipples a painful little twist. “I'm going to cum when and where I fucking want to, and you're going to beg for it.”

“Yes, sir.” Daryl finally pushed off the floor a little, dragging his body up Rick's length and drawing a soft moan out of both of them.

“Maybe I'll cum on your face. Paint that gorgeous fucking skin white.”

“Maybe.”  
  
“Maybe I'll cum in your ass.”

“Maybe you will.”

“Where were you gonna pick?” Rick asked. “Seeing as you obviously had more than a few fantasies about me.”

“Mouth,” Daryl said. “I wanted you to fill my mouth up with it.”

Rick bucked up into his body a little on his ride back down.

“Such a dirty fucking one you've got on you too,” the older man said. “Maybe I'll give you what you want. Maybe I'll violate those gorgeous fucking lips.”

“You're a filthy fuckin man, you know that?” Daryl asked, starting to find a slow rhythm moving up and down on Rick's lap. “Wantin people to fuck up just so you can fuck them. Or is it just me? Maybe you just wanted to fuck me.”

“Oh, it was definitely just you,” Rick said. “Found myself wishin colleges had yearbooks so I could stare at your picture and touch myself.”

“Jesus Christ,” Daryl said. “That's so fuckin hot.”

“Yeah? You like the idea of me rubbin my cock while I stared at your pretty face?” Rick took hold of his hips, digging his fingertips in and pulling Daryl's body down onto him, coaxing Daryl into a near-frantic pace.

“You ever jerk off in your office thinking about me?”

“Probably still cum stains on the underside of my desk.”

“Ah shit,” Daryl said, whining low in his throat, struggling to keep his sounds contained. Shit, he was going to have to ask how much of this was true after they were done pretending.

“You ever jerk off thinking about me, Mr. Dixon? Ever have to stop in the middle of your history homework to rub one out?”

Well, actually...

“Mhm,” Daryl answered, nodding vigorously and breathing hard through his nose, too afraid to open his mouth for what might escape and give them both away. He grabbed harder at Rick's shoulders for support and moved faster.

“That's it. Fucking bounce on it with that nice, tight ass. Maybe I'll give you an A after all.”

“Close.” It took all Daryl had to reel in the long, loud groan that really wanted to follow that word. 

“Remember where you're supposed to cum?”

Daryl nodded, whimpering because he didn't trust himself to do anything else.

“Go ahead then. Do it and then I'll cum all over your tongue.”

“Fuck,” Daryl said, leaning forward and pressing his mouth against Rick's still-clothed shoulder. He wrapped the silk lining of the jacket back around him and rocked while he stroked himself with it. Rick's hand joined his, adding pressure and helping him jerk his erection to completion.  
  
“That's it, Mr. Dixon. Let me feel you shake in my arms.”  
  
Daryl groaned hard against Rick's shoulder, the tension in his body snapping as his cock twitched deep into the inner folds of the tweed jacket. Rick gave him a singular moment to catch his breath and come down from his orgasm, but only just that—the length of time probably less than ten of the rapid thumps in Daryl's chest.  
  
“On your knees,” Rick ordered, and Daryl complied, lifting himself up and mostly falling onto the floor with how exhausted he was. He wiped the sweat out of his eyes while Rick stood up and slipped the condom off.  
  
“Mouth closed. I want to see it dripping from your lips.”  
  
Daryl nodded and shut his mouth, letting Rick press the tip of his cock right against the closed slit between his lips. The older man milked it in the expert way that only he could after years of self-pleasure, and Daryl knelt there, waiting patiently, staring up at him.  
  
He watched Rick's breathing go from deep pants to ragged, shallow little breaths, watched his face and the way his eyes fluttered, the way his bottom lip fell down, went back up, and fell down again. The older man's head tipped back a second, and then came forward, seeking out Daryl's eyes.  
  
Do it, you sexy fucker. I fucking want it all over me.  
  
Daryl wished he could say it out loud, wished he could say every little filthy thing in his head, but he'd been given an instruction. So instead he reached around and cupped Rick's ass, letting his hands slide across his skin to his thighs, squeezing down them in little bursts.  
  
“You want me to cum all over that pretty mouth?”  
  
“Mhm.” Daryl felt his lips vibrating against the head of the other man's cock.  
  
The corners of Rick's eyes creased ever-so-slightly as he shut them tight, his entire face screwing up in concentration for a brief moment. Daryl's lips twitched a little with happiness as he imagined the smile lines that would eventually be there ten or twenty years from now—hopefully he'd be more than halfway responsible for their creation.  
  
And then Rick's eyes flew back open, piercing and blue as he groaned deep against the wrist of his other hand, warm wet streams sliding across Daryl's lips and dribbling down onto his chin.  
  
“Fucking beautiful,” Rick said, picking up the jacket and using it to wipe Daryl's face clean before tossing it aside again. “Get up here.”  
  
Daryl stood up and let his lover press him against the desk, the two of them kissing hungrily, tongues colliding and moving together like two streams merging into one river. When they finally pulled apart, Rick held Daryl's forehead against his own with his hand on the back of his neck, and Daryl figured that was as good a time as any to break the illusion.  
  
“I love you, Rick.”  
  
“That was the hottest fucking thing I've ever...”  
  
“ _I love you too, Daryl_ ,” Daryl said, in a mocking little voice, and Rick laughed.  
  
“You know I love you, sweetheart,” Rick said. “I'm so damn proud of you too. Making me so happy to see you figuring out how much you're worth, which is a hell of a fucking lot.”  
  
“Ain't much, but I'm somethin.”  
  
“Everything.”  
  
“Pfft. Nah,” Daryl said. “Sorry about your jacket by the way.”  
  
Rick picked the discarded jacked up off the floor and looked at nearly-dry stains on the smooth navy lining.  
  
“Would you be mad if I framed this and put it up in our bedroom?”  
  
“Fuck off,” Daryl said, giving him a little shove. “Our... God, it is, isn't it?”  
  
“Yes. _Our_ bedroom in _our_ house.”  
  
“Say it again, Rick.”  
  
“Our house.”  
  
“I'll clean and shit since I can't help with bills. Promise”  
  
“Daryl, you do realize I want you there, right? This isn't some thing I feel obligated to do.”  
  
“Yeah, but...”  
  
“I hate dishes though, so have at it,” Rick said, grabbing Daryl's black shirt off his desk and handing it to him. Daryl smiled and pulled it on, finding his jeans and underwear on the floor and stepping back into them.  
  
“Meet me at home?” Rick asked.  
  
“I'll race you.”  
  
“Don't you dare,” Rick said. “That motorcycle is hot as fuck, but I don't want anyone scraping you off the pavement.”  
  
“Easy, old man,” Daryl said. “I'll wear my helmet and obey the speed limits.”  
  
“You'd better,” Rick said, pulling him in for a little peck on the lips.  
  
“I love you, little duck. See you in a bit.”  
  
“Love you too, Rick.”  
  
Daryl turned and left Rick's office, glancing back at the man once more before he opened the door and headed back toward his dorm to grab his jacket and helmet.  
  
He moved quietly down the sidewalk littered with students still milling about to go to evening club meetings and the dining hall, floating between them without really seeing anything, too caught up in how boneless he felt post-orgasm... in how happy he felt now that everything seemed to have fallen into place. He'd never expected happiness in his life, but here it was laid out before him, stretching endlessly into the future.   
  
Home. He was going to meet Rick at home. Their home now that he'd solved the only issue that had made him reluctant to fully accept it.  
  
Daryl smiled, unable to keep his face straight for more than two seconds at a time.  
  
And maybe if he hadn't been so focused on his new home, he would have noticed the footsteps nearly-mirroring his own. Maybe if he hadn't lost himself in his own bliss, he would've heard them following, the too-familiar gait of their owner registering in his head before it was too late. But he didn't, not until he got in the elevator (miraculously working this week) and realized he wasn't nearly as alone as he'd thought he was.  
  
Oh, shit.  
  
The doors slid closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drops chapter and sprints away*


	25. Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so... There was only one person in the elevator. Sorry. This is what happens sometimes when you edit your own stuff. A single stray "s" can confuse the hell out of people. Whoopsies daisies.

Daryl backed into the wall, trying to force back the panic attack that immediately blossomed somewhere in his chest and wrapped itself around his lungs. His dad had that look to him that Daryl recognized well. It was fierce and dangerous and predatory and lethal.  
  
Breathe. He probably doesn't even know. This is probably about the other night with the money. Nose, mouth. Nose, mouth.  
  
“D-”  
  
Will Dixon was shaking his head.

“All those rumors I said was bullshit... Can't believe I raised a fuckin faggot.”

Daryl's next inhale was strained and audible and damn-near painful. He stared at the little floor indicator screen, willing the little red "1" to change to "2." Once those doors opened, he could make a run for it.  
  
Goddamn't. Why was this elevator always so fucking slow? Why hadn't he taken the fucking stairs?  
  
Play dumb, Daryl. Buy some time.

“What are y-”

The wind left Daryl's lungs in a hideous wheeze as the hard rock of his father's fist connected with his gut, pain spreading out from the contact point in small, throbbing waves.  
  
“I was lookin for you. Weren't here, so I went to the dining hall. Weren't there neither. But that pretty little girl was, and imagine my surprise when I saw her holding hands with your damn chink roommate." He hit Daryl again. "Them two other fags were there too hanging all over each other. Just downright obscene that they're allowed to do shit like that in public.”

Aaron and Eric. He had to mean. And none of them must have noticed him there or surely they would have warned him.  
  
“So I went looking for you and a damn explanation, saw you joggin into the building next door. Followed. Listened.”  
  
Oh God. Oh Jesus.  
  
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. His dad looked ready to block his path, but someone stood just outside the doors and so he had no choice but to move. Daryl took the opportunity, lingering like an asshole and pulling out his phone to text the first person in his message list before he lost the chance, knowing his dad wouldn't make a move with a witness.  
  
_Dad here help._  
  
He didn't even see who it had sent to before the doors closed again, and his dad was pulling him toward his room with one hand over his mouth, checking for witnesses over and over while Daryl unlocked the door with trembling hands.  
  
He was going to die tonight. He knew it. He felt it. Whoever he had texted would get here just in time to find a fucking body.  
  
Unless Glenn was home already. Dear fucking sweet God, please Glenn...  
  
He pushed open the door, praying to every deity he could think of, even begging the Universe itself, but the room was dark and still as the grave that was inevitably waiting for him.  
  
His dad shoved him into the room, sending him hurtling into the metal frame of Glenn's bed, his knee slamming into it. Daryl swore.  
  
“Carrying on with some man. Talking about runnin off with him when I fuckin paid to send your ass here. You'd still be workin in some goddamn garage in BFE without me.”

Daryl was crying, because fuck it. If he was going to die anyway, what was the fucking point of trying to hold back the tears?  
  
His dad grabbed him by the hair and slammed his face directly into the wall. Luckily the cheap plaster gave way before his face did, but he got dust in both of his eyes and had to struggle against the burn to keep them open. He couldn't stop that fucker from hurting him, but at least he could see what was coming.  
  
“How long?” Will Dixon asked.  
  
How long what? How long have I been gay? How long have I been with him? How long have I been planning on leaving? Asking the wrong question might only provoke him further, so Daryl just shook his head.  
  
“You pack your shit. Takin you home. I'll deal with you there.”  
  
Home where no one could hear him scream. Home where his dad could hide a body and no one would ask fucking questions, because one less Dixon was one less Dixon, and who gave a shit?

Daryl shook his head again without even thinking it through, and his dad threw him on the ground, aiming a kick deliberately at the same spot he'd punched earlier. Daryl cried out. He looked around for any way out of this mess, but there was nothing. He didn't have any weapons in his room, and there was nothing to even consider using for one.  
  
It was just him versus his father, and he knew exactly how that story ended.  
  
“I'm sorry.”

“You fuckin will be you ungrateful little piece of shit.”

What do I do, Rick? What do I do?

“I never even fuckin wanted you. Damn mother was too goddamn drunk to remember her stupid pills, went and got herself knocked up.”

Daryl tried to pull himself back onto his hands and knees, and his dad kicked him hard, straight in his right ear, sending him toppling over into one of the legs of his own bed. The whole world on that side of his face went silent save a quiet high-pitched buzz, and he had the feeling that something was very, very wrong there now.  
  
Somewhere, he thought he heard Rick call his name.  
  
“Guess I'll pack for you.”

He only heard the words from one side of his head, same with the closet door sliding open. He tried to pull himself up again, but the carpet was seemingly shifting back and forth and he couldn't seem to find his balance.  
  
He started to fall over again before the boot even made contact with his shoulder.  
  
“Daryl...” Rick's voice. Desperate, but soothing and sweet. Daryl wished it was real, that he could hear it one more time before this ended, but he would take what he could get.

“Rick,” he said weakly, too disoriented to realize how much of a bad idea that was. He looked up at his dad from where he rested on his back on the floor, the world feeling very much askew, and he saw the rage in those matching blue eyes multiply to a level he'd never seen them reach in his life. It was like watching a volcano blow its top in real time.  
  
And if he hadn't already been sure he was going to die, he was now.  
  
His dad reached down and grabbed his motorcycle helmet from the bottom his closet, and the next thing he knew, he felt hard plastic slam against his temple. Once, twice. Unconsciousness threatened to claim him, black creeping in at the edges of his still-stinging eyes.  
  
“Stop, please,” Daryl begged, trying to move, but everything was so wrong and why couldn't he hear on that side and why couldn't he just get up?

He heard a loud crack from somewhere else, and his best guess was that his dad had hit him again, and he was too fucked up to even notice anymore. Or maybe it was just time for the pain to stop. His mom had always said she thought that right before you died, God just stopped giving you pain because it was cruel to keep piling it on when it was already your time. When they'd found her charred remains, he'd hoped so much that was true.  
  
See you soon, Mom.  
  
He saw the helmet again, raised and ready to strike, and then he saw a blur of white and the helmet dropped to the carpet beside him. Figuring that had to be the angel there to take him on to the next life, he let the darkness take over and fell down into the black.

* * *

  
Rick could hear the screaming the second he burst through the door from the stair well. Shane had called him and told him he'd gotten a text from Daryl, didn't know why he'd sent to him but he was already home, too far away to do anything to help. And as soon as his best friend had managed to get out the words "dad here," Rick was in a full-out sprint. He'd spent the run over questioning what this would mean if he went in there. What if the police showed up? What if this undid their secret?  
  
But as soon as he heard that scream, he didn't give a fuck. Fuck his job. Fuck it if he had to work at fucking McDonald's for the rest of his life if he could stop Daryl from getting hurt ever again.  
  
The door to the room was locked. He called Daryl's name, once, twice, trying to let him know that he was there while he tried to kick the fucking thing down.  
  
Just hold on, little duck. I'm here.  
  
God, it always looked so much easier on the movies. But he had to fucking get in there, and he couldn't give up.  
  
His boot made contact multiple times, and he put his whole body into it, not caring if he needed a fucking knee replacement tomorrow. He was going to get in that goddamn room if he had to claw through the door with his fingernails.  
  
Finally, the door splintered open, and his heart broke into a million pieces before rage scooped them all up and lit them on fire.  
  
He saw the motorcycle helmet in Will Dixon's hand, and he sprinted across the room, slamming against the other man and sending them both flying into the closet, scraping his head on the bar and getting tangled in a tattered pair of jeans in the process.  
  
Rick quickly pulled himself free from the denim, slamming a fist into the first part of the man he could hit, which happened to be his chest. The other man grunted but caught his wrist, twisting his arm. Rick grimaced.  
  
But this wasn't over, and he had a whole other arm to use, so he lashed out, scratching at the other man's eyes. Will threw him out of the closet and it took all of Rick's strength to avoid landing on top of Daryl and hurting him any further.  
  
For good measure, he used the few moments he had after hitting the floor to scramble away from his lover's unconscious body, the little trickle of red leaking from Daryl's right ear like lighter fluid to the fire in his chest. He had never felt like this in his entire life. He had never actually wanted to kill a man, but if he didn't have Daryl to take care of, he gladly would have taken the fucking prison sentence just to see the light leave Will Dixon's eyes. Would have ripped that fucker's throat out with his goddamn teeth if that's what it took.  
  
He and Will circled around each other like prowling cats, and then Rick lunged, a lion fucking pissed as hell that this asshole had ever laid a finger on his mate. He knee'd Will Dixon right in the crotch, feeling an almost gleeful little wave of emotion wash over him at the sound of the other man's involuntary grunt of pain.  
  
And then he punched that bastard in the stomach.  
  
Fuck you.  
  
He punched him again, aiming a blow to his face this time. And again. And again and again.  
  
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.

Rick didn't stop until Will Dixon was a wheezing mess, kneeling on the floor and holding onto the frame of Daryl's bed for support. Rick spit directly into his face.  
  
"Piece of shit," Rick said.  
  
“What the...”  
  
Rick's eyes snapped back to the door, and he had to imagine that he looked fucking terrifying. He found Maggie and another boy both standing there, still holding hands.  
  
Maggie let go as soon as her brain processed the scene, and then she sprinted right to Daryl, sliding onto her knees and gently tapping his face.  
  
“Daryl, wake up,” she said softly, choking on her words. She pulled her phone out, dialing 911 even as she continued to gently pat Daryl's cheek.  
  
Rick let her handle him for a minute. He had one more thing to take care of. He grasped Will Dixon and forced him to his feet. Then he violently grabbed the other man's chin and forced him to look him in the eyes.  
  
“You ever touch him again. You ever even _look_ at him again, I will fucking kill you. I will not fucking hesitate.”

“I'll tell them. I'll tell them you're a fuckin faggot who's fuckin my son. You'll lose your job.”

“I already chose your son over my job tonight,” Rick said. “But you're not gonna tell them shit unless you want Daryl to press charges. And believe me when I say I could convince him to. Now what do you reckon _your_ job would think about you beating on your child?”

Will Dixon contemplated that, his whole face twitching because he couldn't fucking argue and that pissed him off to no end.  
  
“You look me in my fucking eyes like a man and tell me you won't see your son ever again unless he chooses to see you.”

“Fuck you.” Will spat at his feet, like they were fighting outside of a bar and not in someone's bedroom.

Rick started to hit him again, but someone else beat him to it. Maggie walked up and slapped that asshole so hard across the face that it almost hurt Rick to even hear it.  
  
“If you ever hurt him again, well... if Rick doesn't kill you, then I will. Raised on a farm and spent my whole life huntin and chasing off coyotes. I'll shoot you square in the face with twelve gauge, send you straight to hell where you belong, and I won't even cry about it.” Maggie trembled where she stood, but it wasn't fear. It was pure, unfiltered rage, and Rick knew exactly why... Because Daryl still hadn't moved. “Now you get the hell out of here and let us fix what you've broken, and don't let any one of us see your ugly face again if you value your ability to keep breathing.”

Will Dixon stomped away, vitriol and blood spewing from him as he went, and that was that.

“Did you call an ambulance?” Rick said. “I don't know where he's hurt, and I'm afraid to move him.”

“You get out of here before they come,” she said. “I'll get your number out of his phone, let you know what's going on.”

“No.”

“Professor, Rick, if you stay...”

“I don't care. I'm not leaving him like this.”

She glanced back at the boy she'd walked in with for a moment and then nodded in understanding before turning her eyes back on Daryl.  
  
“He's not gonna...” the boy said. “Is he?”

“No,” Rick said firmly. He refused to even believe that was a possibility even though he had no idea was the extent of the damage was. God, if only he could've run faster. Or if that text had come to him (Why Shane anyway?). Or if he'd thought to get in his car and drive it over instead of sprinting from the parking lot. Why hadn't he just been a little fucking faster?

“They said five minutes,” Maggie said, gently smoothing Daryl's hair, the tears tracking down her face not diminishing the strength she was projecting by even a hair. When they got through this, he was going to have to get to know her better. He took the other side of Daryl's head, gently petting at his lover's hair, afraid to do even that with more than a light brush of his fingers.  
  
You better damn well not fucking leave me, you perfect little creature. I love you too goddamn much. You stay with me. You fight. We're gonna die together in each others' arms eighty years from now, and you're not allowed to go today.  
  
“Well, Glenn, I reckon since you finally know who Daryl's boyfriend is, we can all go on that double date now,” Maggie said, like she knew exactly what Rick was thinking—or maybe she was just thinking the same thing. She reached over and took Rick's other hand in hers, squeezing it and holding on, both of their hands hovering together just over the warmth of Daryl's chest, an unspoken agreement to not actually touch him hanging in the air between them.  
  
They stayed like that until the paramedics came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm 900% sorry for back to back cliffhangers, but that's just kind of where we're at in the plot and *gives you all brownies from Rick's secret stash*


	26. Waiting

Rick knew they wouldn't let him ride in the ambulance with Daryl, but that didn't stop him and Maggie both from trying, begging even. But rules were rules, and the EMTs weren't eager to break them.  
  
So he ended up with a car-full, Maggie having called everyone in their little group before they'd even managed the walk to the parking garage. Her, Glenn, Aaron, Eric, and Tara all piled into his Camry, four of them squished illegally into the backseat with Tara and Glenn sharing the middle seat belt.

No one talked while Rick sped toward the county hospital, but it was like the car was seemingly full of noise anyway, six silent voices begging, "Please be okay," with Maggie's and Rick's pleading the loudest.

They invaded the waiting room of the ER and took up a whole corner, pulling their chairs around into an amorphous circle of solidarity. There was more noisy silence, and it was Tara who finally broke it.

"Water anyone?" she asked, getting up and smoothing down the arms of the flannel tied around her waist.

"I'll help," Rick said. Anything to keep his mind from constantly playing over the worst-case scenario. If he had to see a quick flash of Daryl's possible funeral again, he was going to scream. "Anyone need a snack?"

There was a small murmur of "not hungry"s from everyone and he followed Tara to find something to drink. Rick managed to break a twenty in a change machine and got everyone a bottle of water and himself four packages of knock-off Ding Dongs.

Tara stole one, managing to juggle the bottles of water tucked under her arms while eating the two little chocolate cakes at the same time, like it was more of a duty to swallow them down than something she really wanted to do. Rick noticed her hands trembling and vaguely remembered a car wash fundraiser last year where her blood sugar had shot so low she'd fainted. Maybe this was something like that.

"You and Daryl, huh?" she asked, casually slipping the trash into his left pocket.

"Cat's out of the bag now, I guess," Rick said.

"Hate to break it to you, but it's been out of the bag, compadre."

"What?"

"Aaron figured it out," she said.  
  
Of fucking course he did.

"How?"

"Think you could keep looking at each other like that at the meetings and no one would notice?"

"Daryl didn't say that anyone knew."

"Daryl didn't know he knew. Heck, Aaron wasn't even sure until tonight. Brought up Daryl's mystery boyfriend at dinner, and Maggie clammed up. Glenn said Daryl wouldn't tell him anything because it might hurt you."

"So you all know. Anyone else?" Rick asked.

"Not unless they figure it out on their own," she said. "We wouldn't do that to you, not after everything you've done for us. Don't want to lose the best adviser ever."  
  
And they were probably going to anyway now.

"I'm sorry," Rick said. "Wasn't even thinking about you guys when this started. I just, God, I couldn't stay away from him."

Tara shook her head and glanced down at his hands.

"You should really let a nurse take a look at those."

Rick looked at his knuckles. They'd stopped bleeding somewhere on the drive over, but they were still scratched, bruised, and scabbed up, twinging a bit anytime he moved his hands. His wrist was already turning a pretty nasty shade of a blue too.

"Nothing a little Neosporin and Daryl being fucking okay can't fix."

"He'll be fine," Tara said. "I've been there. Almost bled out once. God, Richard was so furious when I had to go to the hospital. My step-dad.”

"I didn't know."

"Anyway, point is I'm still here. He's not going anywhere, especially not with you here waiting for him with those big puppy dog eyes."

"Thank you," Rick said.

"Save him a cake for when he wakes up. Hospital food pretty much universally sucks."

"Good call," Rick said, following Tara back to their corner of the waiting room. 

"Nothing," Maggie said, like she could hear the question already forming on his tongue. She glanced at the water bottles in his hands. "And you should really have a nurse take a look at those."

"So I've heard." Rick sat down. He let her take a bottle and then wrap her fingers around his palm.

"I was going to come see you soon," she said. "Figured it was time we had a chat about what I'd do if you ever hurt him. But it feels kind of moot now."

"If I ever hurt him, I'll do it for you." Rick opened a pack of cakes with one hand and his teeth and then shoved an entire one into his mouth. He wasn't really hungry either, even though he'd yet to have dinner and knew he needed to eat (something more substantial than a vending machine cake too). But it was something to do besides just sitting there.

"Excuse me," a deep voice said, and everyone's heads flew up. But it wasn't a nurse or a doctor. It was a cop, a large muscular man with dark skin. His eyes went straight to Rick's battered hands. "I'm guessing I should probably start with you."

Rick stood up and followed the man to an empty hallway that led into the main part of the hospital, that part dim and unused at this hour.  
  
“I'm officer Tyreese Williams with the Alexandria County PD. You wanna tell me what happened?”  
  
Rick took a drink of water first. He thought about lying. He could even say he had to return a notebook Daryl had left behind in his office seeing as a half-truth would be easier to sell. But this night was enough of a disaster already without lying to the cops on top of it, and he hadn't even thought about trying to get a story straight with Glenn and Maggie. No. He already made this choice earlier tonight. He had better stick with it.

“I've been in a relationship with Daryl.”

“The victim?” Officer Williams asked.

“Yes, sir. If you can somehow leave that part out though... I'm a Professor at Alexandria U, and-”

“Really? My sister goes out there. You know Sasha Williams?”

“Can't say that I do, sorry.”  
  
“It's a big school,” he said, shrugging his large shoulders. “Go on then.”  
  
“Well, he's one of my students. Nothing weird though. Refuses to let me help him in class even though I wouldn't anyway. Just that's where we met and things happened that neither of us seemed to be able to stop, and I'd prefer to keep my job especially after all of this.” 

“I can't promise you that, Mr...”

“Grimes. Rick Grimes.”

“So how does that get us here in the hospital tonight?”

“His dad's an abusive bastard. I don't honestly know what happened between them before I got there. I can only assume he found out about us or found out that Daryl wasn't going back to that awful environment after semester ends, but I don't know.”

“So his father is responsible for his injuries?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where do you come in?”

“He texted my friend Shane, the athletic director. He had his tryout for the archery team tonight actually. I don't know why he sent it to Shane seeing as they barely know each other. Maybe it was just the first thing in his phone since he'd had to text him about the tryout earlier. I imagine he didn't have much time to act seeing as it was just three words, 'dad here help.' Shane was already home, called me frantic because I've told him a little about the situation.”

“So you proceeded to go to his dorm room?”

“Yes, sir. I took off running. I just had to get to him, to keep him from getting hurt, to stop it if I could.”

“And it didn't occur to you to call campus police, Mr. Grimes?” he asked. 

Rick's stomach sank. So it was going to be like that.  
  
“All that occurred to me was getting to him as fast as possible, sir.”  
  
“Alright, so you went to his dorm room.”

“Yes, and the door was locked but I could hear him whining in pain, so I kicked it down,” Rick said. The cop raised his eyebrow. 

“Did you now?”

“Took me about ten tries, but I knew he was in there and that he was being hurt.”

“And then you presumably had an altercation with the father?” Officer Williams jotted some stuff onto his notepad.

“Yes.”

“And the younger Dixon was?”

“Barely conscious when I walked in, passed out sometime in the moment right after I tackled his dad into his closet,” Rick said. 

Fuck. Rick should have tried to keep him awake instead of venting his anger. That would've been the smarter move. Let Will Dixon do whatever he wanted while he kept Daryl alive. Fucking idiot.

“And where is the father now?”

“We told him to go home and never so much as look at Daryl again.”

“We?”

“Maggie Greene. She showed up toward the end when things were pretty much done with.”  
  
“Do you know the father's name?”

“I don't think I do, no,” Rick said. He couldn't recall if Daryl had ever mentioned it or not.  
  
“I think we're done for now then,” he said. “Probably should get a nurse to look at those hands though.”

Rick had to keep himself from rolling his eyes. Why couldn't people just leave his stupid hands alone? Didn't they understand that he didn't give a rat's filthy ass about himself right now? 

“I will. Thank you, officer.”  
  
“Send Miss Greene this way.”

“I will.”

He went back to Daryl's friends, his friends now, and sat down, sending Maggie to Officer Williams after telling her not to try and cover for him and to just tell the truth. And then it was back to waiting. He finished the other pack of snack cakes, saving the other one like Tara told him to. Daryl would probably be starving when he woke up. If nothing else, it seemed like some sort of weird luck charm. Daryl couldn't die if he had something reserved for him.  
  
Maggie rejoined the group quickly, sending Glenn off, and then Glenn came back too, all of them settling into an uncomfortable silence again, the other noises of the ER seemingly unable to penetrate their little bubble. Even Tara's optimism couldn't break it.   
  
Finally, a man in a lab coat approached. Rick and Maggie both hopped to their feet before he even got halfway there, their hands finding each others' and squeezing tight.  
  
Please don't be here to tell me he's dead. Please.  
  
“Which one of you is Rick?” the man asked, and Maggie shoved him forward. “He refuses to cooperate with me or the nurses until he sees you. I don't want to sedate him until we know the extent of his head injuries.”  
  
Rick almost started crying. He was awake. He was awake!  
  
Rick nodded. He didn’t need to be told what the doctor was asking, because the doctor was asking him to see Daryl, awake and alive even if he was a little worse for wear. He let go of Maggie's hand and followed.

* * *

This wasn't heaven. Daryl hurt everywhere, so much pain that he couldn't even pinpoint where the epicenter of each hurt started. Heaven was supposed to be peace and an end to suffering, and he was suffering _a lot_.  
  
Maybe all those Westboro Bastard Church people were right. Maybe he was in hell because he liked the way a cock felt in his ass. Or maybe it was the premarital sex. That was still a sin, right?  
  
He groaned. Could you wish for death if you were already dead?  
  
“I think he's coming to.”  
  
The voice was faint and garbled, like a radio playing underwater and only into one of his ears.  
  
Daryl groaned again. His head hurt. His body hurt. His knee hurt. His arm hurt. Everything except his fingers and toes fucking hurt.  
  
“Mr. Dixon. My name is Amy Harrison and this is Dr. Mamet. Can you hear me?”

The word “doctor” seemed to register somewhere in the giant mass of pain that was his head. But why did it only go in one ear? He tried to touch the other one. Maybe there was something covering it up. But someone knocked his hand away. 

“Don't do that.” A male voice.  
  
Doctor. If there was a doctor, then he probably wasn't dead. And if he wasn't dead then...  
  
“Rick.”  
  
“No,” the male said. “My name is Milton.”

“Rick,” Daryl said again, more insistent this time. He finally forced his eyes open even though they hurt too, sore and achy like he'd somehow gotten a sunburn on his corneas. No, that man was definitely not Rick. 

The nurse—What was her name? Amy—recoiled a little.  
  
“I think he might need his eyes flushed too. Do you remember anything getting in your eyes?”

Daryl couldn't even remember why he hurt so much. Why did he hurt so much? It was like his brain had all the dots, but he just couldn't connect them. Who would hurt him? 

He saw fierce blue eyes, angry and—dad. His dad had shoved his face through a wall.  
  
“Plaster,” Daryl said. “Want Rick.”

“Just let me deal with your eyes,” she said, and Daryl slammed them shut.  
  
“Rick.”

“Sir,” the doctor said. “You've sustained a lot of injuries that we need to deal with be-sir!”

Daryl tried to sit up, yelling when he did because holy fuck that was awful and why had he fucking done that? A hand pushed him back down, making him twitch because wherever they'd touched hurt too. 

“Oh God, I'm so sorry,” the nurse said. “Just please let me help.”

“Rick. You can help if you get Rick.”

“Is there a Rick here?” the doctor asked, and another voice answered—this one male too. 

“He's got a whole crew out there. Probably.”  
  
“Who?” Daryl asked, satisfied by the sound of feet leaving his room. Rick. Go get Rick.  
  
“The other guy?” Amy asked. “That's Noah. He just started his nursing clinicals here.”  
  
Daryl didn't respond, but he did finally open his eyes and let her flush them out with saline. If Rick was coming, he wanted to be able to look at him, because what felt like both ten seconds and a million years ago, he'd thought he'd never see him again.  
  
Still blinking away dust and water, but with his eyes feeling about five percent better and at least not screaming at him for daring to blink at all, he focused on the door. Footsteps. God, he knew those footsteps already, could almost see the black boots Rick wore with everything tapping the linoleum.  
  
And then there he was, disheveled and with blood on his white shirt, but definitely Rick. His Rick. Looking at him with relief and love and... Daryl started sobbing, and the other man crossed the room so quickly, it was like he'd teleported.  
  
“Kiss me right now,” Daryl demanded. And Rick didn't even hesitate, his lips somehow desperate and tender and impossibly passionate and loving all at once.  
  
“Will you let us work now?” the doctor asked, a little edge of irritation to his voice.  
  
“Yes,” Rick said, giving Daryl a stern look. “I'm going to get out of the way now, but I'm going to stand right over there on that wall so you can see me.”

“Okay,” Daryl said, nodding. And he watched Rick back away and take a space right next to the door. He mouthed, “I love you so much” and Daryl's mouth twitched up for a second before a lightning bolt of pain made him wish he hadn't even tried to smile. 

“Can you tell me where it hurts?” Amy prompted.  
  
“Everywhere.”

“Where is everywhere?”

“Head feels like someone hit me, well, someone did hit me with my bike helmet.” Daryl watched Rick's eyes close a bit in pain at hearing it. “He punched me in the stomach. I can't... my ear isn't working. He kicked me in the ear.”

The doctor pulled out one of whatever those light-up ear thingies were and looked inside of Daryl's ear. 

“Keep going,” she said, making notes on what had to be his chart while the doctor told Noah to go ahead and order an X-Ray and a CT scan. Daryl couldn't help but think about what kind of bill this was going to be and how in the hell he was going to pay it.  
  
“Hit my knee. Slammed my face into the wall. He kicked me back down a lot. It happened really fast.”

She looked at him like he was a rescued puppy and not a patient, and Daryl couldn't decide if that made him angry or not. 

“Get that shirt off of him,” the doctor said, and the nurse started slicing it off before he could even protest that he could probably get it off, which he knew was bullshit seeing as it was agonizing just to sit up. But of fucking course he had to be wearing one of his only decent shirts today.  
  
“Oh, God,” she said, looking at his stomach and chest, and Daryl could see why with a simple glance down from where his head rested on the slightly elevated upper part of the hospital bed. His entire stomach was a gruesome shade of deep reddish-purple. He heard Rick make a noise at it and looked over to find his fists clenched at his sides. It was only then that he noticed how torn up Rick's hands were.  
  
God, did he...?  
  
Maybe that blur of white had been an angel after all, his own personal one at least. He certainly liked the rough man with wavy hair a lot more than some pristine woman in white anyway.  
  
The nurse continued to expose his injuries, managing to roll up the wide leg of his jeans to his injured knee rather than destroying them too. And then they worked, forcing Daryl to stay conscious the whole time time as they surveyed him and wheeled him to the X-Rays and CT's and back again, even as the clock on the wall ticked well past 4 a.m.  
  
Rick barely left his side, only going when he had to because he couldn't be in the room with the heavy machinery and because Maggie would probably strangle him if he didn't give her an update, but for the most part he was there always, a quiet sentinel keeping guard. Noah had brought him a chair at some point, and whenever Rick started nodding off against the wall, he would stand up and pace back and forth before sitting down again.  
  
It was dawn when they'd finally finished, or at least it would have been dawn if the room had a window. Dr. Mamet finally declared that he thought it would be safe for Daryl to sleep again since he hadn't passed out since. As shitty as his bedside manner was, Daryl kind of liked the guy. He gave it to him straight, and as disorienting as this long day had been, Daryl needed straight.  
  
“You had a Moderate Traumatic Brain Injury with a contusion, not a severe one, but not a little one either. You may or may not have some lasting damage, some permanent disorientation or confusion. But you might not. If you do, it's nothing that should be too debilitating.”  
  
Daryl nodded.  
  
"You'll need surgery to repair the damage in your knee, but the on-call surgeon is dealing with a gunshot wound, and your knee can wait until later today." 

"Okay." Daryl could almost see the dollar signs. He was going to be in debt until he was dead. 

“As for your right ear, based on what I can see, there's a pretty good chance it's gone.”

“Gone?”

“There's a chance it could just be perforated ear drum, which would heal, but I think based on the scan and how you sustained the injury, it's pretty likely you'll suffer at least partial hearing loss in that ear.”

“Forever?”

“More than likely, yes.”

Daryl nodded and snapped his fingers by his ear, ignoring the way his shoulder smarted a bit when he moved it. There was nothing. 

“I'm keeping the police out until after you rest, but you might want to think about whether or not you'd like to press charges.”

You're damn well fucking right I want to press charges. Wanna sue that fucker for these bills too. 

"I will."   
  
“Mr. Grimes, say goodnight. He needs to rest, and you do too.”  
  
Daryl panicked a little. 

“No. Please don't make him leave,” he begged. Shit, he wanted Rick curled up next to him in the hospital bed even if it made every inch of his body throb in agony. “Please. I thought I was going to die and never see him again and please...”

The doctor looked uncomfortable in that way more analytical people always did when emotions got brought into the mix.

Rick crossed the room again and took his hand, squeezing it tight.  
  
“Daryl, darlin, sweetheart, sugar, little duck, love of my life,” Rick said, reaching up to gently smooth some of his hair, careful not to irritate any of his bruises, “I need to sleep, and I need to get everyone home, but I promise you by the time you wake up, I will be right here.”

“Everyone?”

“Mhm,” Rick said. He turned back to the doctor. “Can they all come say goodnight? Maggie will die if she doesn't see him, and I want him to know how many people he has in his corner.”

The doctor sighed. 

“Nurse, go get them, but they aren't to stay more then ten minutes.”

Nurse apparently meant Noah in this case, because he left and came back with the whole group in tow. 

Maggie went for him first, scooping Daryl's hand up in both of hers and holding it like a newly hatched baby chick.  
  
“You ever scare me like that again, and I'll...”

“If it's any consolation, I lost the black shirt,” Daryl said. “So we'll have to go shopping again.”

Maggie smiled. 

“I love you,” she said. “We all do.”

“Pfft, nah,” Tara said in a near-perfect impersonation of Daryl's inflections, and if it wouldn't have hurt everything he had, he would've reached out and popped her on the arm. “Kept telling these fuckers you'd be okay.”

“Glad someone thought I would be,” Daryl said. Because he certainly hadn't. 

“Glad you're alright, dude,” Glenn said. "Could've told me you were banging a professor though. That's like major points."   
  
Daryl scoffed.   
  
Eric was glad he had pulled through too, adding on that he was super-jealous even though it earned him a playful nudge from Aaron, who stepped up after him, leaning down and whispering in Daryl's good ear. God, he had a good ear now like he was eighty instead of eighteen.   
  
“Was the risk worth it?” Aaron asked softly, recalling a conversation they'd had what seemed like a lifetime ago. And Daryl looked at him and then at Rick, out of the way so the others could crowd in, but still not willing to leaving his side, one of his hands resting reassuringly on Daryl's calf. And yes, even though Daryl had gotten the living shit kicked out of him, it was so fucking worth it. And he'd probably take the beating all over again if it was the difference between having Rick and not.   
  
“You have no idea,” Daryl said, but Aaron glanced back and Eric and gave him a small smile, and Daryl thought that maybe he really did. “Thank you.”

“You better get some sleep and heal up,” Aaron said. “I've been missing my garage partner.”

There were a few more rounds of “glad you're okay”s and one, “Go team DRR MEAT, now with two R's!” And then Noah kicked them all out, letting Rick linger for just a minute more.

“Promise you'll be here,” Daryl said. And Rick gave him a soft kiss. 

“I promise,” Rick said, and he kissed Daryl's eyelids shut and ran his fingers through his hair once more. “Dream about something beautiful, little duck.”  
  
“Guess I'm dreamin about you then,” Daryl mumbled, already slipping down into unconsciousness now that he finally felt like he could. Besides, the sooner he slept, the sooner he'd see Rick again.  
  
And that's all he really wanted now that he'd faced what he thought was the end: Rick. He'd never believed in soulmates much before, never really believed in love either, but now he was pretty damn sure he had both. And in spite of the pain he still felt (even with the morphine), Daryl fell asleep with a smile on his face. 


	27. Little Duck

Daryl woke up with his smile gone and his whole body hurting. His first thought was, "ow," and his second was that they must have moved him to a real room while he was out, because sun was streaming through the window into his eyes, the light making the ache in his head pulse.  
  
He whined low in his throat, trying to reach for the little call button for the nurse.  
  
“Shh, sweetheart, I've got it,” Rick said, approaching his bed and hitting the call button before moving the remote into his hand. Daryl looked up at him, clean in a pair of sweats and a white tee with gauze wrapped around his knuckles.  
  
He was there. Just like he promised.  
  
“Sun,” Daryl said, turning away from it with a little groan. Rick walked over to the window and pulled the blinds down. It didn't make the pain in Daryl's head go away, but it at least stopped throbbing.  
  
“That better, darlin?” Rick asked, pulling his chair closer and sitting down, tucking Daryl's hair behind his ear on the side that wasn't damaged and leaning forward to kiss his temple.  
  
“I feel like I got hit by a truck,” Daryl said, and Rick frowned.  
  
“No, no, don't do that." Daryl reached up and touched his lips. Rick kissed his fingertips.  
  
“I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner,” Rick said. “Sorry that I made you sneak around with me. If I'd just taken you straight to dinner...”

“Stop,” Daryl said. “I already got my ass whooped. Don't need you beatin yourself up.”

Rick sighed, but he nodded, taking Daryl's hand in his and playing with his fingers until the nurse came in, wearing a bright smile and pale yellow scrubs. 

“Hi, honey,” she said. “I'm Nurse Jacqui. What can I do for you this morning?”

“Hurts,” Daryl said, and she floated over to the wall to grab his chart. 

“And no wonder,” she said. “You haven't had anything since the ER this morning. I'll be right back.”  
  
Daryl and Rick sat quietly while they waited, Rick continuing to touch him softly, his hands, the left side of his head, and anywhere else he knew was a safe place. His blue eyes were so soft and kind as they looked him over—tender and caring just like they had been back when Daryl had panicked during that first test. He hadn't shaved either, probably sacrificing it for a few more minutes of sleep or so he could rush back over to the hospital. Daryl reached up and touched the barely-there stubble on Rick's chin, trying to distract himself from his aches by memorizing the rough texture and the way the shadow looked on his chin.   
  
“You're gorgeous like this,” Daryl said, noticing that Rick's waves weren't styled either, just sort of messy and soft and multi-directional. Like he could sense what Daryl wanted, he leaned down so the younger man could run his fingers through his hair. Soft. So soft. He liked soft.   
  
“Shit,” Daryl said, as he finished appreciating his boyfriend's face for what had to be the nine millionth time since they'd met. “I must look like shit right now.”

“Eh,” Rick said, looking him over. He shrugged. “I'd still hit it.”

Daryl let out a little huff of a laugh and then immediately grimaced and whined, which in turn made Rick apologize about five times. 

“Don't,” Daryl said. “You can be funny after I get more pain meds.”

“They're here, sweetie,” Jacqui said, popping into the room with a syringe that she added into his IV. “I can't give you much, because you have surgery in an hour and they'll want to make their own decisions in the OR, but hopefully this will hold you until then.” 

Right. Surgery. That was happening.  
  
The nurse made sure he didn't need anything else before she left, and then Daryl turned back to Rick, his hand still wrapped around his own.  
  
“Don't think I'm gonna make it to class today, Professor,” Daryl said. “Gonna miss handing in my essay.”  
  
“Don't worry. Class was canceled today. Professor had something more important to attend to.”  
  
“More important than history? That's sayin somethin.”

“More important than anything else in his life. Or so I hear.” Rick leaned over and kissed him, soft as a summer rain. 

Daryl pet the gauze on Rick's knuckles with light brushes.  
  
“Before I passed out, I'm pretty sure I thought you were an angel. Guess I was really out of it.” Daryl brought Rick's hand to his mouth and kissed the bandages. “Did you kick his ass?”

“Yes. Me and Maggie both.”

“Perfect,” Daryl said. “A 'fag' and a 'chick.' Bastard's gonna die of shame.”

“We can only hope.”

“Thinkin I might press charges. Try to get these medical bills put on him. He won't be able to afford 'em either, but at least it'll be his debt instead of mine. Don't even know if that's how it works, but...”

“We'll figure it out,” Rick said. “Right now you should be resting. You can deal with the rest when you're out of here.”

“I know, but that's easier said than done.”

“I have enough in savings to take care of you, which I know isn't what you want. But at least accept it as an 'if you have to' option and stop worrying when you need to be healing.”

“I'll try,” Daryl said, nuzzling his head back into the thin hospital pillow and wishing very much that it was one of the soft, ultra-fluffy cushions of amazing that Rick kept on their bed. He closed his eyes, twining his fingers with his lover's and resting his eyes until they came to fetch him for surgery. When they did, he wasn't quite sure if he had slept or not. 

* * *

  
Rick watched Daryl sleep, grateful, so so grateful, for the way his chest rose and fell with every breath. Because the fear of losing him was still so fresh, and every single up and down was just another reminder that Daryl had lived.  
  
It was dark now, Daryl having pretty much slept all day after his surgery. They'd given him a stronger dose of painkillers, and the boy could barely hold his eyes open for more than few minutes at a time, usually waking up just long enough to murmur "love you" or "glad you're still here" before slipping back off. Not that Rick minded, because he had to imagine that his little duck was miserable when he was awake. Hell, he whimpered in his sleep as it was.  
  
He got up and walked to the window, opening the blinds back up and watching the world outside. There was a little bit of traffic on the road by the hospital, typical for the busier part of town. The line at the 24-hour McDonald's across the street moved steadily. And he smiled faintly, because he remembered being a different one not too long ago, their relationship just blossoming along with Daryl's self-worth. It had been awkward then, but now it was just a fond memory, an important conversation and step on their journey together.  
  
He walked back over to the bed, standing beside it because he was dead-tired of sitting. Even in the dim light filtering in from the hospital parking lot a couple floors below them, he could see the gross purple and red staining the right side of Daryl's face. He traced around it with his finger, keeping his light touch on the part of Daryl's face that was still a pristine peachy color (though a little paler than usual). The younger man made a little noise at the touch, but otherwise he didn't stir.

Daryl wanted to press charges, and Rick knew that if he did that would make his little “deal” with Will Dixon null and void. His leverage would be gone, and he wouldn't be able to stop him from tattling to the college. He also knew Daryl would immediately let go of the idea if he told him all of that, because Daryl was just as protective of him as he was of Daryl 

But it wasn't his decision to make or to influence, and Daryl pressing charges would be a huge step in his personal development. Going from terrified of his father to willing to stand up to him in some small way—Daryl needed that.  
  
And Rick also found that the longer he stared at the swollen and discolored half of Daryl's face, he cared less about his job and more about Will Dixon being made to own up to his deeds. He wanted him to suffer. And since the asshole was a man of pride, something like this coming out would probably wound him to the core.  
  
Rick cupped Daryl's left cheek, watching Daryl lean into his touch even in his sleep, and the corners of his lips gave a little upward twitch.  
  
“Whatever you want to do, I'll stand behind you,” he said softly. He sank back down into the chair and leaned his head over onto the mattress next to Daryl's face, grateful that no one seemed to realize he was still here past visiting hours. Or maybe they knew and just didn't care. He kissed Daryl's temple one more time and let himself fall asleep too.

* * *

  
It had almost been a week, and they had told Daryl that the earliest he might go home would be Wednesday. His room had slowly filled up with flowers and candy and other gifts. Rick took it upon himself to help him eat some of the chocolate, stuffing it into cheeks like a chipmunk while Daryl teased him about it, finally able to laugh with only a dull ache instead of a sharp pain.  
  
Everyone came by multiple times, Maggie hanging out the most. Sometimes Rick stayed and talked and joked with them, he and Maggie bonded by what had happened and their mutual affection for Daryl. Sometimes when she came, he went for a walk or went home to shower and change, letting Daryl and his best friend have some time alone. Occasionally, but rarely (as hospitals made him uncomfortable), Glenn came with her, and the four of them would talk, Rick slipping easily into their conversations like he was just another college student and not one of the professors.  
  
Tara came by a lot too, and always with something practical. Decent soap and shampoo for the little shower the nurses helped him limp to on his new crutches, gum, puzzle books, a deck of cards for him and Rick to play with. She gave him hell about taking too long to get better and was generally the only person who didn't treat him any differently while he was injured than she would've the rest of the time. She also teased Rick relentlessly, which made Daryl snicker to no end.  
  
Aaron and Eric came by together on Tuesday afternoon, Eric with cupcakes spelling out “Get Well Soon” and Aaron with a some race car balloons that looked like they belonged more at a kid's birthday party than in a hospital. Daryl loved them.

Rick took their visit as an opportunity to order him and Daryl some decent food and go pick it up, leaving the three of them alone to hang out. 

“Has he even been home?” Aaron asked, taking Rick's usual chair while Eric pulled up the other that usually stayed pushed against the wall.  
  
“Yeah,” Daryl said, taking a second to process the question with all the drugs hanging out in his bloodstream. He was really going to miss morphine. Oh, man, he really was. “Doesn't seem to leave unless he knows someone else is here. Usually goes when Maggie's here or sneaks out when I'm asleep.”

“Aw,” Eric said. “That's so cute.”

“Yeah, well, he is pretty cute,” Daryl said, unsure if his smile was him or the painkillers. Probably both. “And sexy. And gorgeous. And mine.”

Aaron smiled wide. 

“Lucky,” Eric sighed.

“Hey, yours isn't bad either,” Daryl said. “And he's got a nice smile and pretty blue eyes.”

Aaron scoffed and looked away, shaking his head.  
  
“He's right,” Eric said, stealing a kiss. “I'm pretty lucky too.”

“Mhm. My type's more...Rick, but I think you're alright, buddy.”

“I think you're on too many drugs right now is what I think,” Aaron said.

“Whatever. You're cute. Deal with it,” Daryl said, shrugging, and Eric laughed. 

“Did I miss something funny?” Rick asked, walking in with a Chili's bag. Daryl pushed the button on his remote control to slowly lift his bed up so he could eat. His midsection smarted a bit, but it was all dulled by the medication swirling around in his system.  
  
“Was just tellin Aaron that he's cute,” Daryl said, holding out his hands toward Rick because he could small the barbecue bacon burger from where he sat, even with his senses dulled by the swelling in his face and the drugs in his body.  
  
“Ah,” Rick said. He glanced over at Aaron. “Hadn't noticed.”

“Sure you hadn't,” Daryl said, opening the container and eating a french fry before Rick could even offer him a packet of ketchup. 

“Hey, I was _trying_ to follow the rules and stay away from students, you know,” Rick said. “You just sort of ruined me.”

“I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm really not,” Daryl said, biting into his burger. “Mmh fyou”

“I love you too,” Rick said. “Now close your mouth.”

“Damn, did I come just in time for a party?” someone asked. 

Daryl looked over at the door. 

“Shane?” Rick asked.  
  
“Gotta check on my archer,” he said, walking in with his hands behind his back. Daryl swallowed his bite.  
  
Shane was cute too. Yes. No. Not cute.  _Sexy._ But not Rick sexy.  
  
“Hey, uh... Coach? Sir?”

“You're fuckin my best friend, Daryl. May as well call me Shane.”

“Shane!” Rick hissed, but Aaron and Eric were already doubled over, laughing.

Shane pulled his hand out from behind his back and tossed whatever he had at Rick, who caught it. It took Daryl a second to catch up with where the thing had gone, but he finally turned to his lover. 

“You're an asshole,” Rick said, squeezing the stuffed animal close to his body so that Daryl couldn't really make out what it was. 

“But you love me,” Shane said back.

“Is it for me?” Daryl asked, and Shane mhm'd. “Lemme see.”

Rick sighed and held it up to him, a giant yellow stuffed duck. 

Daryl blushed. He'd forgotten that nickname had a source and that Shane knew it. But at the same time, he sort of... loved it? He pulled it out of Rick's hands and squished it a little with his fingertips before pulling it against his chest and nuzzling into the fluffiness.  
  
“Soft,” Daryl said. He hugged it for about a second more before he remembered that he had a cheeseburger, and then he abandoned it next to him on the bed and dug back into his food.  
  
“Came to make sure you're doing okay,” Shane said.  
  
“I'm alive,” Daryl said.  
  
“Meant Rick, actually, but I am real happy about that too seeing as it would have a definite impact on my other concern if you weren't.”  
  
What?  
  
Daryl tried to put all that together, but his brain was too fuzzy and all he could think about was bacon and barbecue sauce and the soft stuffed animal occasionally brushing his arm while he ate.  
  
Rick looked over at Aaron and Eric to make sure they were going to sit tight for a minute, and then he jerked his head toward the door.  
  
“Let's take a walk. Been sitting too much anyway,” he said. He leaned down and gave Daryl a kiss and promised he'd be back in just a minute. And Daryl watched him walk out of the room with Shane. 

* * *

He and Shane ended up in the little cafe in the hospital lobby, both taking a little table with two small sytrofoam cups of terrible coffee in front of them.

“I know you,” Shane said. “One way or another, in that noble head of yours, you're making this your fault.”

“It _is_ my fault,” Rick said. “I should have been strong enough to wait. Then we wouldn't have had to sneak around.”

“You think that bastard wouldn't have found out about you guys if you'd waited until you could be more open? Think he still wouldn't have flipped his shit soon as he did? Think it wouldn't have ended up the same way, just later?”

“He wouldn't have been in his room alone if he hadn't needed to meet me at home instead of just going with me, Shane.”

“Nah, Rick, that's true,” Shane said, nodding. “But thing you're not thinkin about is that it was gonna happen eventually. From what I've heard, that fucker was never just gonna let Daryl go.”

“Maybe not, but he wouldn't have been alone.”

“See, now that's where you're wrong. You want to feel guilty because he's hurt and he's suffering and you want to suffer with him because that's the kind of idiot you are,” Shane said. “But that motherfuckin coward would have made damn sure he was alone before he made a move no matter what you two were up to.”

Rick took a sip of his coffee, trying to decide if “seared garbage” was an appropriate flavor description or not. He added another pack of sugar, hoping that would help cover the taste. It didn't. 

His best friend was right. That was the infuriating thing about Shane. He was a smug bastard, and you couldn't even argue with him because he was always fucking right when he opened his stupid fucking mouth.  
  
“But if he'd never met me...”

“Shit, Rick, I've barely been around him, and even I can see the way he smiles at just the damn thought of you. You can “what if” all day long, but the thing is that even though this happened and it sucks, it really does, you're both a hell of a lot happier with each other than without.”

Fucking Shane. 

“Well, you gonna say it?” Shane asked.  
  
“No.”

“Come on, now,” Shane said, making a little motion with his fingers and pointing at his ear. “Say it. Say I'm right.”

“Fuck you, Shane.”

“Just say it, Rick. Say, 'Shane, you're right. I'm happier than you've ever seen me, and you're totally right.'”

“I'm going to throw this coffee in your lap,” Rick said. “See how all your lady friends like it.”

“Well, it'd probably be a better use for it than drinking,” Shane said, making a little face at his coffee. He hadn't touched it since the first sip. 

“How's that goin by the way? Hadn't had a good talk in a while.”

“How's what goin? Drinking this coffee?”

“Your love life, you dick.” Rick said, throwing an empty sugar packet at him and watching it flutter down onto the table about halfway there. Shane smirked at it.

“It ain't. I've been busy.”

“Whatever,” Rick said. “You've never been too busy for that.”

Shane shrugged, and Rick just shook his head, staring back at the counter of the cafe and wondering if the hot cocoa was any better than the coffee. Eh, better not chance it. It was going to take all of his salad and iced tea upstairs to even get the taste of this out of his mouth. 

“So, how is he?” Shane asked. “Guess I'd be a selfish dick to ask if his arms are okay.”

“You would be, but considering you already were a selfish dick...” Which was only partially true. Rick saw through Shane's bullshit. Always had. Yes, he wanted Daryl to still be able to function on the team, and part of it was selfish, but he also knew that Shane was well-aware of the effect Daryl not being on the team would have on the younger man and therefore, by extension, Rick. Shane always liked to disguise his being nice as self-interest, like he was terrified that someone might notice he was a good guy somewhere in there.

“Love you too, Rick.”

“They're fine. He needed knee surgery and they've been mostly keeping him to make sure he looks like he's healing okay there, no infection or anything. And to keep a watch on his head injury. Hearing in his right ear is probably gone too.”

“Jesus,” Shane said. “Even I want to get a shot in on that asshole.”

“Wish you could,” Rick said. “Probably hit harder than I do.”  
  
Shane looked at Rick's hands, the bandages gone now that his knuckles had formed thick red scabs.  
  
“Looks like you did okay.”  
  
“Didn't have a choice,” Rick said. “Pretty sure if it had taken me another kick to get through that door, you and I would be having a very different conversation right now.”

“What conversation is that?”

“You trying to get through to me while I screamed my head off in a padded cell somewhere.”

“Well, good thing that didn't happen,” Shane said. “We would have missed out on all this wonderful coffee.”

Shane reached over and slapped his hand down on top of Rick's squeezing it for all of one second, and that was the only indication Rick got that his best friend at least sort of understood the emotional tilt-a-whirl he'd been on since last Thursday. From Shane though, it was more than enough of a gesture. 

“I should get back,” Rick said. “Haven't eaten yet, and I don't know when Aaron and Eric will wanna leave.”

“Yeah. I've got to pack. Little trip down to Georgia to see the family and try to recruit this baseball player from our old high school. Some kid named Negan. Bit of an attitude problem we're gonna have to stamp out if he's gonna play for us, but but one hell of a damn batting average.”

“Good luck,” Rick said, standing up and tossing his almost-full cup in the garbage. Shane's joined it shortly after. 

“I really am glad he's alright,” Shane said.  
  
“I know you are.” Rick gave him a tight hug complete with lots of Shane's hyper-masculine back pats, and then they said good-bye before Rick headed back upstairs.

He walked into the room to find Aaron and Eric whispering, leaned together and looking at Daryl like two proud parents, faint smiles on both of their lips. They looked up at Rick, glanced down at Daryl and then back at him, both of their faces seemingly asking, 'you seein this shit?'

His lover had pushed the rest of his food away, only a couple bites of burger a few fries remaining. He seemed to have fallen back into one of his drug-induced sleeps, resting quietly with his longish hair fanned around his head on the pillow. But by far the best part about it was that he had his arm curled tight around the little stuffed duck, the whole thing squished against his side.  
  
Rick's heart gave an aching throb of longing, and he tried to remind it that Daryl was already his, but it wouldn't listen, his chest tightening with a painful want for something he already had. God, how could he still be falling more and more in love? Wasn't there a limit?

He crossed the room and smoothed one single stray lock of hair off of Daryl's forehead, and then he leaned down and kissed where it had rested. 

“He talked about to me about you a while ago,” Aaron said. “Didn't know it was you, but I'm glad it is now. He's been happier. Even when he's in the garage, he's more open, doesn't hide under the cars as much. I know it's not just you, but you're part of it.” He patted Eric's leg, and the two of them stood up at the same time.  
  
“Almost forgot this,” Eric said, pulling a card out from his messenger bag. “From the GSA. Everyone signed it.” He left it on the table next to Daryl's nearly-empty food container, propping it up so Daryl would see it the next time he woke up. Then, he walked out of the room with his boyfriend at his heels.  
  
But Aaron hesitated, stopping to put a hand on Rick's shoulder, giving it a squeeze.  
  
“It'll all work out,” Aaron said. “Might not seem like it at the time, but we're all behind you both.”

Rick nodded at him, giving his wrist a squeeze before he let go of his shoulder and followed Eric out.  
  
He looked back over at his lover, looking absolutely precious even with half of his face the color of a plum. As long as he had Daryl, he decided, nothing else mattered. He could weather the storms and accept wherever his ship landed after the clouds had cleared. He'd told Daryl so many times that they would figure things out together. Maybe he should heed his own advice. 

Besides, Daryl was going to need him. He'd been too drugged up to be anything but adorable these past few days, but eventually that haze was going to clear, and he didn't know how Daryl was going to feel exactly, but he had an inkling that the younger man was going to need an anchor to get him through his own storm. And Rick couldn't hold Daryl in place if he was too busy letting the waves toss himself about.   
  
He took his seat next to the younger man's bed, brushed one more kiss on the back of his hand, and then ate his lunch in silence, settling in and watching the rise and fall of Daryl's chest, once again appreciating, beyond all possible measure, that it was even doing that at all. 


	28. Pasta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm declaring this Professor Grimes' official canon hair, because it is glorious and perfect.  
> <http://rickgrimespls.tumblr.com/post/121635270256>

They released Daryl on Friday afternoon, which was just as well considering it would give him the weekend to get re-oriented to the outside world before he had to return to school.  
  
Rick took him home to their place, deciding it would be better if he spent the weekend there. Which Daryl was more than willing to accept seeing as he had no desire to go back to his dorm room yet, where everything would remind him of the awful shit that his dad had put him through. It was hard enough right now knowing that he'd literally never fully recover.   
  
“You comfortable? Got everything you need?” Rick asked, helping Daryl put a pillow under his leg before making sure he had the TV remote.  
  
“Yes, mom,” Daryl said, earning an eye roll from the other man.  
  
“I'm gonna go fill your prescription and pick up some groceries, maybe something for dinner.”

“I'll be here,” Daryl said with a lazy smile. 

“No taking the Mustang out for a joy ride while I'm gone.”  
  
“I don't know, Rick,” Daryl said. “All these drugs, I could probably just sit it in the driveway and have a hell of a time.”  
  
Rick cracked a smile, and damn if it still didn't make Daryl's heart flutter seeing those blue eyes brighten like that.  
  
“You know, you have pretty teeth,” Daryl said, staring at Rick's mouth. “If we could somehow make babies, I'd want them to have your teeth.”

“I wish it was healthy for you to be on painkillers for the rest of our lives.”

“I'm okay without them though, right? You love me still.”

Rick squatted down and smoothed his hair back before kissing him. 

“Pretty sure I do,” he said.

“Only pretty sure?” Daryl fake pouted. 

“Beyond sure.”

“Tha's better.”

Rick stood back up and pulled his keys out of the pocket of his jeans, checking to make sure he had his phone and that Daryl's was somewhere nearby just in case he needed him. 

“Be back soon,” he said.  
  
“Hey, wait.”  
  
“Hmm?”

“Where's my duck?” 

Rick huffed out a tiny laugh, but he went to go find it among all the crap he'd toted in from the hospital, handing it to Daryl so he could snuggle up with it while he was gone.  
  
Sofffftttt. Soft soft soft.  
  
“I'm going to kill Shane for how cute that fucking is.”

“No, don't,” Daryl said. “He's growin on me.”

“I don't think Shane's ever gotten anyone to like him any other way.”

“Did you ever, you know?”

“Have a crush on him? Yeah, for a minute,” Rick said. “He tried to let me fuck him once when he was drunk. He didn't like it.”

“You fucked Shane?” Daryl asked, his skin warming at the mental image of those two men tangled together. 

“Nope,” Rick said. “Didn't even get a finger in before he freaked out. I tried to explain that it got better, but it doesn't matter. Even if he wasn't so straight you could hang a flag on him, it never would've worked like that with us.” 

“You would've thrown him out after the first day.”  
  
“God, that's the damn truth. Besides, I like you better anyway. Like that, at least.”

Rick did another once-over of the living room, his eyes seemingly going over some little mental checklist. He nodded, satisfied. And then he turned and left, calling back a "love you" before the front door clicked shut. 

Daryl fell asleep shortly after, the remote still in his hand. He hadn't even managed to find something on the vast Netflix menu to watch before nodding off. 

* * *

Soft fingers petted Daryl awake, and he smiled before he even opened his eyes, sighing out Rick's name.  
  
“You can keep resting if you want, but I brought home pasta.”

“Pasta?” Daryl mumbled, temporarily forgetting what pasta even was. Pasta... pasta... Shit. 

“There's spaghetti and fettuccine. You can take your pick.” 

Yes, that's what pasta was. His stomach grumbled. 

“Help me up?” 

Rick grabbed him under the arms and lifted him onto his good leg, handing him his crutches. Daryl followed him to the kitchen, yawning a little along the way.

“You're supposed to take your antibiotic with food,” Rick said, sliding the bottle over after Daryl sat down. 

Daryl rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and opened it, swallowing a Texas-sized pill with a grimace. It tasted like butt dipped in butt and lightly seasoned with butt. 

“You can take a pain pill now or wait a little closer to bed, up to you.” 

“Bed. So I can actually sleep.” God, why was he so tired when that was all he'd been fucking doing? 

“They had another prescription ready for you too, so I went ahead and picked it up. Didn't know if you meant to go get it and couldn't because of everything or what.” 

Daryl looked at the other container of pills and frowned. They were the pills for his panic attacks. He'd gone to pick them up and found out they were about a hundred and fifty bucks without insurance, which he definitely didn't have, so he'd made up some lie about how he'd come back and left them there. He was surprised they'd kept them ready all this time.

“How much did all of this cost?” Daryl asked, looking at the array of medications on the table. 

“Not nearly as much as you're worth to me,” Rick said. “Which one of these do you want or do you want a little of both?”

“Rick.”

“Daryl.”

“ _Rick_.”

“You can pay me back,” Rick sighed. “I will accept kisses and you eating your dinner.”

“No, Rick, you can't just, you cant just... Fuck,” Daryl growled, because he couldn't quite connect the right words together with all the other right words. He pressed his palm into forehead. 

“Shh,” Rick said. “Hey, you can pay me back for real. When you're healed up, we'll work something out. Do some restoration stuff on the Mustang that I've been wanting to do, help me clean the gutters, rake the yard for me because I was an idiot and bought a house with too many fucking trees. That sound like a better deal?”

Daryl wanted to say yes. But he still couldn't figure out what he'd even been trying to say to Rick before the other man responded, the words trapped behind some invisible wall in his head that he just couldn't seem to break through. Right there. He could feel them, but he couldn't  _get to them_. 

He put his head down on the table and started crying. His knee still hurt like a bitch but a pill now meant one he couldn't take later. He was never going to be out of debt with either Rick or the hospital, and Rick might let him off the hook, but that didn't mean Daryl would be satisfied with that. And he was tired. So fucking tired and for no reason at all either.   
  
He heard Rick's chair move on the tile, felt the other man's hand gently rubbing his back.  
  
“I'm never gonna be good enough for you,” Daryl said. “Don't know why you even bother.”  
  
“You know that's not true, Daryl,” Rick said. "It's just been a rough week."  
  
“It is though. Jesus, I can't even afford the shit I need.”

“Daryl, you're eighteen years old and a freshman in college. You're not supposed to be able to afford the shit you need. You're supposed to be checking sidewalks for quarters so you don't still smell like the party you went to on Friday during class on Monday. Eating too much Ramen and gaining fifteen pounds on french fries from the dining hall. You're not supposed to be this worried about shit like this yet.”

“You're not either. You've got your own shit to worry about.”

“Daryl, I have a good-paying job, for now at least, and an overwhelming desire to do everything in my power to make sure you are taken care of. Because the thing isn't that you're not good enough for me. It's that you don't even know you are, that you deserve to be happy and carefree, focused on getting through school so we can build a life together. Or so you can build one on your own if you ever decide this isn't where you want to be.”

“Stop it.” 

“Stop what?”

“Being so perfect when I'm not.”

“Oh, darlin, I am far from perfect.”

“Could've fooled me,” Daryl mumbled, his face still down against the wood grain of the dining room table, hot tears pooling beneath it. He felt Rick press his lips to the back of his skull. 

“I am madly in love with one of my students, not that I regret it one bit, but that's not exactly the epitome of perfection,” he said.  
  
Daryl sniffled.  
  
“Up until about twenty minutes ago, there was nothing in my pantry except stale potato chips and an ungodly amount of brownie mix.” Rick grabbed his chair and scooted it closer, draping himself around Daryl's body and nuzzling into his neck, peppering it with kisses.  
  
“I got arrested once,” Rick said.  
  
“What?” Daryl looked up, letting Rick brush the water off his cheeks.

“Public intoxication. They let me off, but I got really drunk with Shane one night junior year and walked around the mall parking lot singing 'Single Ladies' at the top of my lungs.”

“You're makin that up.”

“Oh, believe me, I wish I was.”

Daryl sat up, groaning at the way his head throbbed when he did.

“During semester breaks when I don't have to teach, sometimes I lay around the house in the same pair of sweats for about a week, only shower when I have to go out to get some food. Sometimes, not even then. Just put a hat and fresh clothes on and roll with it.” Rick shrugged.

“That's fucking gross, Rick,” Daryl said, making a face at him before grabbing a napkin to mop up his tears. “Sorry for...”

“Come here,” Rick said, pulling him into a slow, languid kiss that made Daryl's chest ache. “Don't apologize. You've been through a lot. Reckon you're gonna get frustrated more than a few times before we get through this.”

“You gonna put up with a boyfriend who's half-deaf, maybe with brain damage and a bum knee?”

“'Put up with' isn't really the way I'd see it,” Rick said. “But if that boyfriend is you, then absolutely.”

God, I love you. 

He let his hand migrate to Rick's, turning it over and tracing the lines of his palm, wondering if they really meant anything and, if so, what they might say about their future together.

“I want both,” Daryl said, glancing over at the to-go containers of pasta. Rick smiled and drew his hand away before scooting his chair back to so they'd have elbow room to eat. Then he moved the food toward him, letting Daryl take half of both portions before plopping a large piece of garlic bread on the side of Daryl's plate. 

“I'd offer you a glass of wine, but I have a feeling that would be a bad idea.”

“Because you're Mr. Responsibility and I'm underage?”

“Because wine and painkillers aren't known to play well together,” Rick said. Oh. Right.

“I'm okay,” Daryl said, washing down a bite of spaghetti with water. “Thank you for taking care of me all week.”

“You would've done the same.” Rick took a giant bite of fettuccine, sucking the noodles between his lips, his cheeks hollowing a bit.

Daryl watched, hypnotized. When Rick licked the white cream off his lips, Daryl's stomach went a little funny. He'd gotten so used to regular sex since they'd started dating, and he was suddenly realizing that it had been over a week.   
  
No. No, it's dinner now.   
  
Dinner where he was eating food that was steadily helping to lift the haze the drugs had over his body, allowing his brain just enough room to slip into a fantasy where Rick had something a lot bigger than a noodle in his mouth. Daryl glared down at his crotch.  
  
Damn't, stop.  
  
He focused on clearing his plate, sopping up the marinara and alfredo sauces with his garlic bread. Next to him, Rick sucked in some more spaghetti with a wet slurp.  
  
“Can you not?” Daryl huffed.  
  
“Not what?”

“Eat like that. Stop it.” 

Rick's face fell.   
  
No no, not like that. Don't make that face. I didn't mean...  
  
“Sorry, didn't mean to annoy you.”  
  
“You didn't. It's just...”

“Just?”

“You're suckin and slurpin and it's making me think of other stuff, and we're tryin to have a nice dinner.”

Rick raised his brow and then dissolved into soft laughter, leaning over to take a peek under the table. Daryl blocked his view with a napkin. 

“Rick, stop,” Daryl whined. The other man sat back up, smirking.  
  
“You get enough to eat?” he asked, finishing off his pasta with a very deliberate and very wet noise.

Daryl groaned. 

“Yeah,” he said, his belly just pushing the boundary between satisfied and too full.  
  
“Good.” Rick slid off his chair onto his knees. “Why don't you turn this way then.”

“You don't have to do that.”

“I know.” Rick helped him rotate the chair, pushing the legs around on the tile until he could scoot up between Daryl's thighs. “Bet you're still hurtin a lot, huh?”

“Mhm,” Daryl said. He was too. It was taking a lot for him not to break down and go ahead and take a pill. 

“Let's see if I can make you forget about it for a little while,” Rick said, leaning over to mouth Daryl through his borrowed pajama pants. The younger man pressed his lips together and leaned back into the chair, mming softly.  
  
“That what you need, sweetheart?”

“Don't know 'bout need...”

“But it's what you want,” Rick said, undoing the button on the fly of the flannel pants and fishing out Daryl's erection. He nuzzled his face against it, languidly mouthing up the side, planting a kiss right on the head.  
  
“Always want you,” Daryl said, sighing as Rick ran his tongue up the underside of his cock. Rick shifted on his knees to get a better angle and winced.  
  
“Here.” Daryl pulled his shirt off and handed it over so Rick could fold it up under his knees. No need for both of them to be suffering.   
  
“Thanks,” Rick said. He looked up, taking in Daryl's body and frowning at the large swath of bruises still covering his torso. He brushed his fingers over the discolored skin so lightly that Daryl barely even felt them, and then he leaned up and kissed every inch of hurt, slowly stroking Daryl's erection as he went along.  
  
Daryl responded by burying both hands in his hair, feeling the soft locks slide between his fingers. Rick smelled like strawberries again.  
  
“I love you so much,” Daryl said, earning him a bright smile from the other man.  
  
“I love you so much too, Daryl.” Rick kissed back down Daryl's stomach and found his erection with his lips, letting the length slide as far into his mouth as he could handle it. Daryl moaned, his fingers curling into his lover's dark waves.  
  
“Feels so good,” Daryl said, trying his best to ignore the way his stomach ached when his abs clenched up in pleasure. “Thank you.”  
  
“All I ever want is for you to feel good,” Rick said, pulling off and stroking. “If I could take all the pain from you, I would.”

“Wouldn't let you,” Daryl said, letting out a small pleasure-filled cry as Rick took him back into his mouth, swallowing him almost all the way down. “Wouldn't want you to—fuck—deal with this.”

“Mhm,” Rick said, the vibrations of it making Daryl's hips buck, a motion he felt all the way in his freshly-repaired knee. He was glad Rick was too focused on what he was doing to see him grit his teeth, because the last thing he wanted was for him to stop. 

The older man pulled off with a deliciously wet squelch, and then ran his lips back down the underside before taking Daryl's balls in his mouth one at a time, giving each an equal amount of sucking and tender licking.  
  
“Fuck yes, Rick,” Daryl said, letting his head lazily fall back, his mouth hanging open. He stared up at the light on the ceiling, letting the world dissolve into a bright yellowy haze while Rick found his cock with his mouth once more, bobbing up and down the length of it with ever-quickening fervor. So warm. So wet.   
  
“Close,” Daryl said, watching a dozen bright spots of light float around in his vision.  
  
Rick pulled off just long enough to say, “whenever you want,” and then he went back to pulling his lips up and down Daryl's erection over and over, fondling his balls and occasionally twisting his mouth on the up-stroke.  
  
Daryl's toes curled in his socks, and he felt his body draw up, poised on the edge. He managed to tilt his head forward again, the image of Rick's hollowed out cheeks and perfect pink lips wrapped around him enough to send everything spiraling into an ecstasy-driven supernova.  
  
"Shitshitfuck." Daryl groaned loud and finished, filling Rick's mouth with his orgasm. The other man swallowed it down as it came like it was no big deal, and then he pulled off, wiping a couple of drops of drool from the corners of his mouth. He eased Daryl into his pants and buttoned them back up.  
  
“Better?” Rick asked, standing up and handing him his shirt. Daryl looked down and found Rick hard and clearly leaking at the tip, a perfect outline of of his dick visible through his sweatpants.  
  
“Let me,” Daryl said, reaching for it, but Rick pulled away.  
  
“Nope. That was about making you feel better, not about me.”

“But...” Daryl pouted up at him. “But I can't just leave you all...”

“My hands work." 

“Rick.”

“Daryl.”

“ _Rick_.”

Rick sighed and worked the band of his sweatpants down just far enough to let himself spring free and hopped up on the table right beside his lover. Daryl reached for the other man's cock, but Rick gently swatted his hand away. 

“You're not wearin underwear,” Daryl said, like he'd just told him some big secret.   
  
“Haven't had time to do any laundry this week.” Rick brushed his palm over the precum leaking from his tip and stroked the moisture all the way down, licking his palm to add a little more lubrication into the mix.  
  
Daryl tried to lean forward and take it in his mouth, but Rick nudged him away and shook his head.  
  
“You just relax,” Rick said. “Need to rest and find the energy to catch up on some of your schoolwork. I think you have a history essay due.”

“You're gonna make me do homework?”

“I'm not,” Rick said. “But Professor Grimes will be disappointed if you don't hand it in on Monday.”

“Assface,” Daryl said, but he greedily watched Rick jerk himself off anyway. Rick had such a nice cock, straight and smooth, long enough to reach everything he needed reached. The perfect thickness to stretch him open just like he liked too. He had no idea how they were possibly going to manage to bang with him injured from head to toe, but damn't if he didn't have every intention of trying at some point this weekend.

Maybe if he laid on his side, they could spoon-fuck or something.  
  
It took a few more minutes for Rick to finish, catching his cum in Daryl's used dinner napkin, and then he hopped off the table and pulled his pants up like what he'd done was just a normal part of dinner.   
  
“Snuggle and watch movies?” the older man asked, throwing the napkin away and clearing away plates and food containers.  
  
“Make brownies?”

“I could go for a brownie," Rick said, already pulling open the pantry and grabbing a box of mix and a bottle of oil. 

“Rick,” Daryl said sternly. “I want at least half.” Rick sighed in the middle of digging through the fridge for eggs. 

“How about one third?” he asked, washing his hands.

“Half,” Daryl said. “And a kiss for each one I eat. Final offer.”

“You drive a hard bargain, little duck.” Rick leaned down and kissed him. “But deal.” 

* * *

Rick had needed to pee for at least an hour now, but Daryl was fast asleep leaned back against him with his head resting in the crook of his arm, and despite his growing discomfort, he just couldn't bring himself to wake him up.  
  
They'd spent all night eating brownies and watching Supernatural after Daryl saw it on the Netflix menu and said “ooh,” and it took Rick all of one classic rock song and a gratuitous car shot to understand why his boyfriend liked it. 

Sam Winchester's abs weren't so bad either.

“Rick,” Daryl murmured. 

“Mhm?” Rick asked softly, praying that he was awake so he could take a piss and shift them to the guest room (both having decided it would be easier to temporarily move in there than for Daryl to crutch up and down the stairs). But Daryl wasn't awake, and Rick was torn between finding it absolutely precious that he'd said his name in his sleep and wishing he could somehow teleport to the bathroom without disturbing him.

Finally, when he couldn't stand it anymore, he stroked Daryl's cheek, softly brushing it until the other man's eyes fluttered open. 

“I tried to let you keep resting, but I've gotta go,” Rick said.  
  
Daryl made a groggy “mm” sound and started trying to sit up, letting Rick slowly push him the rest of the way up.  
  
“I'll be right back,” Rick said, slipping out from under him and hauling ass to the bathroom. When he came back, he found Daryl pulling himself up on his crutches, grimacing and hissing through his teeth.  
  
“I would've helped,” Rick said, already trying to do something to make him stop making that face and that sound. Shit, it made his heart fucking ache to even hear it.   
  
“Can't keep you around every minute,” Daryl said. "Gonna have to learn to do it myself."  
  
Rick bit his tongue, deciding it was probably best not to argue. Daryl was already on edge tonight, and he wasn't eager to have their first fight just yet, especially not under these circumstances. So he let Daryl struggle his way to the bedroom, staying close enough that he could catch him if he needed to but otherwise keeping his distance. 

Rick did manage to help him into bed, cleverly disguising getting him onto the mattress as a display of affection, stealing kisses while he eased him down.  
  
“We're fuckin tomorrow,” Daryl said after his head hit the pillow, his words slurring together with exhaustion and the painkiller that he'd taken a couple hours before. Rick's eyebrows went up, because that was not at all what he had expected to come out of Daryl's mouth at that junction in time. His lover shrugged. “Just wanted you to be thinkin about how we'd do it.”

Rick slid into the bed next to his boyfriend, neither of them commenting on how they'd wordlessly switched sides so he'd be on Daryl's left, so he could still whisper sweet nothings into his ear without it becoming yet another source of frustration when Daryl couldn't fucking hear them. He gave his boyfriend a couple of spare pillows and watched him endeavor through propping his leg up, trying to help only once, backing off when Daryl barked that he could fucking do it.  
  
When the other man finally got situation, Rick molded himself into his side, pressing his face into the muscles of his shoulder. 

“Still think you're fuckin gorgeous,” Rick said. “Perfect even.”  
  
He felt Daryl's nose press into his hair, and then the other man found his hand and played with it, twining and untwining their fingers over and over. 

“Rick, don't hate me, but...”

“Hmm?” Rick said, looking up at him. 

“I left my duck on the couch, and I really want him.”  
  
Of fucking course. 

“Damn't, I really am going to kill Shane.” But Rick got up anyway, unable to say no to Daryl's adorable sleep-laden voice. Or to the image of his duck with a duck in general.   
  
Daryl held his arms up for it when he got back, taking it and tucking it against him on his right side, leaving the left free for Rick to curl up against him again.   
  
"He got a name?"  
  
"Been trying to think of a good duck name," Daryl said. "But my brain isn't all there right now."  
  
"Bill?"

"No," Daryl said. "Thought of that, but it's too close."  
  
"Shit. Sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"No, it's okay. It'd be a really good duck name if he hadn't ruined it."  
  
"Daryl Jr? Seeing as you're the big little duck and all."

"Maybe. We'll think about it," Daryl said, yawning and weaving their hands together once more, this time leaving them that way on top of his hip. "Night, Rick."   
  
"Night, Daryl." Rick watched the younger man's eyes droop shut, waiting for the moment when his lover's breathing changed, deepening with sleep. Then, and only then, did he let himself fall too, slipping away into a proper rest for the first time in over a week. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that I'm going on vacation for a week starting tomorrow (yay!). The bad news is that I'm going on vacation for a week starting tomorrow (oh). 
> 
> I very deliberately left this free of any particularly nasty or otherwise torturous cliffhangers, but you're going to have to wait like, a whole week for updates. I know. I know. I'm a monster. A whole week? Who does that. (Literally everyone but me, probably). 
> 
> In the mean time, feel free to comment. I have a very long trip, so replying will give me something to do.
> 
> Thank you all for keeping up with this story so far. Being appreciated for something I love to do is really nice. Now if whoever made that 50 Shades crap into millions of dollars would please show up...


	29. Bacon and Eggs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK. 
> 
> And I'm surprised I even got this chapter written, because my brain has been going "cruise cruise cruise cruise" ever since WSC made that announcement yesterday, but here are words! Words are here!

Rick woke up to the sound of Daryl groaning. Sometime in his sleep, the younger man had rolled over onto his left side, and he had his face pressed into Rick's chest, practically burrowing into it as he writhed with pain.  
  
“Daryl,” Rick said softly, giving him a gentle nudge on the arm. “Wake up, darlin.”

The sun hadn't even risen yet, and Rick could feel the sweat soaking through his shirt, could see the way Daryl's hair stuck to his forehead in dampened clumps. The younger man whimpered and tried to burrow in more, like he could somehow crawl out of his body and into Rick's to escape the agony. 

“Sweetheart.” Rick shook him a little harder and Daryl stopped, his head slowly moving back away from his chest. The first thing Rick did was press his hand to his lover's face, checking for a fever, for a sign that his knee might be infected. But Daryl was just warm, not burning.  
  
“Sorry,” Daryl said, rolling back over onto his back and using his hands to pull his leg back onto the stack of pillows. He screwed up his face. “Fuck.”

“I'll be right back,” Rick said, getting up to get him a cool cloth and some ice water. Daryl took both without argument. 

“Thanks,” he said, his face remaining in a grimace the entire time he gulped down his drink.  
  
“Here,” Rick said, offering Daryl one of his pills as well. “It's late enough.”

“Oh thank fuck.” Daryl reached for it and swallowed it down, chasing it with another sip of water. He laid there for a moment, seemingly catching his breath and trying to cool off at the same time. “Rick," he said finally. 

“Yes?”

“Hold me?” Daryl looked at him with the most pitiful pain-laden puppy dog eyes Rick had ever seen, and he couldn't have said no even if he wanted to, which of course he didn't.

“Like you even have to ask.” Rick turned on the ceiling fan so Daryl wouldn't get hot again, and then he crawled back into the bed, letting the other man get comfortable against him and finding his hair, stroking it until the pain pill kicked in and let his boyfriend fall back asleep. 

Rick joined him again a few minutes later.

* * *

Daryl opened his eyes to his body aching, but only a little. He vaguely remembered waking up in the middle of the night, but it felt a bit like a dream that he couldn't quite piece together entirely. All he knew was that Rick had been there for him, just like he'd been there for him through the entire ordeal.  
  
You really do want me, don't you? Broken and all.  
  
He leaned back so he could see the older man's face better, all soft and calm with sleep. Rick had a nice bit of stubble on his chin now from spending more time lately taking care of Daryl than himself, and Daryl had to admit he kind of liked it. It made him look older and more experienced, more like the collegiate history-loving kinky fuck that Daryl knew and loved.  
  
He touched it, letting his fingers glide through the coarse hair, watching the way Rick tilted into his hand.  
  
God, how did he land such a gorgeous man? And such a kind and caring one too.  
  
Daryl leaned forward and kissed his forehead. The other man stirred a little but didn't wake, instead snuggling more into the pillow. Then Rick licked his lips and sighed, his mouth twitching.  
  
Pretty Rick. Pretty, pretty Rick.  
  
“Love you,” Daryl whispered, scooting even farther away from his lover so he could continue to watch him sleep. He felt like shit, but at least he still had this. At least it hadn't all been for nothing. And his arms were okay. He would still have his scholarship. That was something to be grateful for too, he guessed.  
  
He tried to bury his bitterness under those thoughts and reached forward to touch Rick's arm, letting his fingertips glide all the way down the exposed skin to his hand. Rick shuddered a bit, but still didn't wake, “mm”ing softly in his sleep in a way that made Daryl want to “mm” too.  
  
Well, shit.  
  
Daryl looked down, cursing his body for ruining his sweet morning activity of quietly admiring Rick.  
  
Why do we always have to do this?  
  
He sighed and palmed over his pajamas, unable to stop himself from groaning low at the touch. Fuck, that's nice.

That woke Rick up in a way that nothing else had, his blue eyes snapping open and locking on his.  
  
“Good morning, sunshine,” he said, eyes flicking down to the growing plaid tent below Daryl's waist. One corner of his mouth inched up. 

“Mornin,” Daryl said, feeling his cheeks flush warm.  
  
“That for me?” Rick asked.

“You made a noise,” Daryl said, chewing on his fingernails. 

“So did you,” Rick said. “A nice noise too.”

“Stop.”

“Hey, you're the one who told me we were fucking today,” Rick said, yawning and stretching. “I'm just trying to be a good sport about it, you know?”

Daryl rolled his eyes and tried not to smile. He had said that. And meant it. He just didn't really mean to get a boner this early in the morning, and with hardly any coaxing either. God, Rick made him such a fucking teenager. Well, technically he still was a fucking teenager, but still...

“You think about it then, old man?” Daryl asked.

“When don't I think about fucking you?” Rick asked, giving him a pretty sultry smirk that Daryl felt all the way in his pants. “But yeah, I thought about it.” 

Without a word, Rick reached over and started rubbing him through his PJs, kneading his cock through the thin plaid fabric. Daryl arched his hips up into the feeling using his good leg.  
  
“If you could stand to lay on your stomach, I could be extra careful, but I reckon that might put pressure on your knee that you don't need.” Rick squeezed up the entire length of him, expertly pulling a moan out of his mouth.  
  
“Standing up might work if we could keep you balanced on the right side.” Rick unbuttoned the hole on the front of the pants and slipped his hand into the folds of flannel and cotton to rub him skin-to-skin. Daryl bit his lip.  
  
“Easiest would probably be for you to lay on your side though. Maybe use some pillows to spread your legs a bit. Keep you comfortable. I can hold you and fuck you from behind.” Rick said this while he found Daryl's balls, cupping his hand around them and rolling. Daryl groaned.  
  
“Kinda what I was thinkin.”

“Yeah?” Rick asked. He pulled his hand free and rolled onto his back, reaching for the night stand so he could grab lube before remembering they were in the guest room. He sighed. “Be right back, little duck. No touching.”

Daryl immediately disobeyed, but only a little, stroking himself just enough to keep from losing his mind, letting his mind wander to thoughts of Rick's mouth and hands, to Rick's cock buried deep in his ass. Oh, fuck yeah. 

“Thought I said no touching,” Rick said, clearly amused, but tutting at him just the same. “Maybe I should've grabbed the crop too.”

“Can't help it,” Daryl said, trying to ignore the way his cock twitched at the idea of being spanked again. “Need you.”

“I'll forgive you this time,” Rick said. He dropped the supplies on the mattress next to Daryl and then carefully straddled his hips, grinding his body down into his and rubbing their clothed erections together. 

“Ah fuck,” Daryl sighed, barely managing to get the words out before Rick leaned down and covered his mouth with a hot, messy kiss, still rolling their bodies together as he did so. And Daryl hurt a little with the other man's weight putting pressure on his sore spots (despite being very careful), but not nearly enough to ask him to move.  
  
“Alright,” Rick said, presumably satisfied with their kissing and grinding. “Let's see if we can make this work and get you what you want, huh?”

“Yeah,” Daryl said, nodding. And he was fucking determined to make it work even if it didn't. Hell, he'd grit his teeth and bare it if he had to, because he fucking _needed_ Rick inside of him again. 

He let the older man slide his pants off and help him onto his side, the two of them working in conjunction to scoot him across the bed so Rick would have room to slip behind him. It was probably the most awkward and unsexy way either of them had ever gotten into position, but the anticipation of being fucked kept them both going despite that. Of course, Rick letting his hands wander here and there and everywhere didn't hurt either.  
  
He felt Rick slip a few pillows in between his legs, just to keep his knee at an angle that didn't put pressure on it inside the brace, and then the other man crawled behind him, his cock free and pressing lightly against Daryl's ass. Daryl licked his lips in anticipation, waiting for the moment when he felt Rick pull his ass cheeks apart and press a wet finger against his entrance.  
  
Yes, yes, yes, yes.  
  
It was weird having his good ear pressed against the pillow. Everything Rick said to him came through muffled and distorted, but after adjusting, he found that he could mostly fill in the blanks. He knew the way Rick liked to talk in bed. He got the idea anyway.  
  
“So fucking beautiful,” Rick said. “Was too busy being worried about you to miss this, but you're right. Been way too long. Feels like months.”

“Yeah, I need you so fuckin—ah fuck.” Daryl groaned as he felt Rick finally slide his finger in, immediately tilting it and finding his prostate, rubbing over it in little circles, more teasing than anything. But the burn and fullness of even having something in there at all made Daryl sigh anyway. 

“Yeah, you did need this huh, darlin?” Rick asked.  
  
“Mhm,” Daryl said, pushing back as he felt Rick trying to add another finger into the mix. He had half a mind to tell him to skip it and just go straight to fucking him. But he knew that it'd been too long for him to make that demand and that he'd only regret it.  
  
One circling and teasing finger became two.  
  
“Please,” Daryl said, trying to move his body toward the pressure. “Just a little harder.”

“But you touched yourself when I told you not to,” Rick said, nipping down his neck. 

“I'm sorry. Just please.” Daryl whimpered. So close. So close to what he needed, but not quite there.  
  
“Shh,” Rick said. “Here, sweetheart.”  
  
He gave his lover the perfect amount of pressure, and Daryl groaned his name.  
  
“Ah, fuck yeah.”

“Want something bigger?” Rick asked, alternating between rubbing his prostate and opening him up.

“Yes, please, yes,” Daryl said. Please.  
  
Rick pulled his fingers out and Daryl waited, unable to hear anything other than a little rustling, the sound traveling through the sheets and cotton batting inside the pillow before reaching his ear. He could guess though, that Rick was putting on a condom and lubing it up and... Oh hell, yes. There it was, Rick pressing against him, easing inside of him with one hand holding his hips still.  
  
Daryl bit his lip, waiting for the first moment of contact, that first glide of Rick's cock over his sensitive spot. Rick never missed anymore. He knew exactly what angle to hit Daryl at on that first stroke to kick things into gear.  
  
And there it was, a hard slide that had Daryl moaning both in relief and in anticipation of how good this was going to fucking be.  
  
Rick bottomed out soon after, wrapping one arm tightly around him and pressing his chest against Daryl's back.  
  
“I'm ready,” Daryl said as quickly as he could tolerate. “Please just fuck me. Hard. I need it hard.” For emphasis he pushed himself back on Rick's length, rocking his hips a bit and trying to find all the sensations he wanted all on his own.  
  
“Anything you want, sugar,” Rick said. He tightened his one-armed grip on Daryl's torso and then he bucked his hips, pulling out and thrusting back in.  
  
“Yes,” Daryl said. And Rick did it again, rocking their bodies together, holding Daryl tight and fucking into him faster and faster until his pelvis slapped against his ass cheeks.  
  
“Fuck, Rick,” Daryl said. He could feel his knee smarting a bit at being jostled so much. His abs hurt because there was no way to keep them from tightening up with the way his body reacted to having his prostate assaulted like that. His head hurt too, just from the physical exertion and the current route most of his blood was taking.  
  
But none of that compared to the white hot ecstasy he was getting from having Rick pound into him like their lives depended on it. And he still had enough drugs in his system to hold off the worst of it.

“Am I giving you what you need, darlin?” Rick asked. “Nice hard fuck just like you like it?”

“More,” Daryl demanded, the word coming out in a long, throaty groan. 

“Like I said, anything you want.” Rick moved his arm down Daryl's body so he could hold his hips a little more steady, making each hard thrust count, lining up every single one perfectly to hit Daryl right where it would count the most.  
  
“I think...”  
  
“I know,” Rick said, sliding his arm again, this time so he could wrap his hand around Daryl's cock and jerk him off with total abandon, still sliding in and out of his ass as he did so.  
  
“So fucking good, Jesus fuck.” Daryl leaned forward so he could watch Rick pump his erection, admiring the way the other man squeezed at the tip, milking every bit of pleasure out of him that he possibly could.  
  
“Rick,” Daryl groaned. “Fuck you're so good.”  
  
“So are you,” Rick said. “So nice and tight and always eager for more.”

“I can't,” Daryl said. “Can't hold...”

“You don't have to,” Rick said. “Go ahead, Daryl. Nice and messy for me.”

Daryl stopped fighting and let the sensations of Rick fucking him from both sides win out. He rolled the other half of the pillow up over his face and groaned into it, his body drawing up and then shooting cum all over the sheets. 

“Beautiful,” Rick said, stroking until he was sure Daryl was completely dry. “Perfect.”

He pulled out and Daryl rolled onto his back, finally able to hear everything properly again, just in time for the wet, slapping sound of Rick furiously jerking himself off, the condom abandoned somewhere. 

“No,” Daryl said. “Not again.”

“What?” Rick asked, but he stopped and let his hand fall away. 

Daryl forced himself into a sitting position and pulled Rick close, the other man straddling Daryl's thighs, giving him room to lean forward so he could take him into his mouth.  
  
It didn't take long for Rick to get there either. A few pulls of Daryl's lips down his length, and he was pushing the younger man off of him and painting his orgasm all over the Alexandria University logo across Daryl's chest.  
  
“Thank you,” Daryl said, pulling off the soiled shirt before falling back onto the bed with a smile on his face. Rick shifted back to the thin sliver of mattress on his left side, and Daryl scooted over to make room for him.  
  
“That worked well enough,” Rick said, fingers already tracing his clavicle and the muscles of his bicep.   
  
“Mhm,” Daryl said. “Least now we know how to do it.”

Rick leaned over and kissed him, both of them losing track of time, making out slowly and happily until Daryl's stomach interrupted them with a quiet grumble. 

“I bought eggs and bacon,” Rick said, sounding a little too proud of himself for having gone to the store. 

“In a minute,” Daryl said, pulling him in for another seemingly endless kiss, curling his fingers into Rick's hair and holding his mouth to his until he was satisfied enough to let go. 

“Was thinking we could call Maggie,” Rick said, finding Daryl's pajama pants and helping him work them on over the leg brace. He offered him another shirt, something stuffed into the drawers that he apparently kept stocked with extra clothes for guests. It was a well-worn and extra soft cotton shirt from some history museum somewhere. Daryl smiled at it before pulling it on.  
  
“Why?”

“Well, word on the street is that we owe her and Glenn a double date,” Rick said. “Figure we can have them over for dinner after you work on your essay.”

Daryl sighed. 

“Was hoping you'd forget about that essay,” he said. “Would it be special treatment if I _convinced_ you to let it go for the whole class?”

“Nice try,” Rick said. “But even you aren't that good, little duck.”

“Damn't.”

Rick kissed him again and then stood up.  
  
“I'm gonna go start breakfast,” he said. He moved Daryl's crutches and leaned them against the bed. “You got it?”

“Yeah,” Daryl said. “Lot higher than the couch. Should be easy.”

“Holler if you need me,” Rick said, and then he left. By the time Daryl got up and made it to the bathroom and out, he could smell bacon wafting in from the kitchen. He followed the smell and found Rick at the stove, the whole picture making it obvious that the older man was only doing this for him and had approximately no idea what the fuck he was doing.

“Shit,” Rick hissed, jumping back from a splatter of bacon grease.  
  
“Here,” Daryl said, after making his way across the tile and stopping. He leaned his crutches against the counter top and took the fork from Rick, flipping the bacon and adjusting the eye. “Just don't let me fall.”

“Never,” Rick said, and he wrapped his arms around Daryl's waist while the younger man cooked the bacon to a perfect crisp before frying up four sunny-side-up eggs in the leftover grease. 

“Guess you do need me, huh?” Daryl asked.  
  
“I only know how to make brownies,” Rick said after leaving Daryl leaning against the counter and transferring their food to the table. “And toast.”

“Toast'd be good,” Daryl said, already making his way over and taking his seat.  
  
A few minutes later and he and Rick were laughing quietly over breakfast, soaking up egg yolks with toast and teasing each other with “old mans” and “little ducks,” with quips about how needy Daryl was and how much Rick never seemed to really object though.

"Was thinkin," Daryl said, "you cooked for me before. That morning after the Mustang broke down. You forget how?"

"Wanted to impress you," Rick admitted. "Snuck out to the diner. Meant to tell you...eventually."

The younger man shook his head. He could still feel the dull soreness that came after a good fuck, could still feel the satisfaction loosening all of his limbs. And all of that with the easy, happy (if slightly embarrassed) smile Rick gave him when he looked up from his plate.

For a minute, Daryl almost forgot he was even hurt.


	30. Family

Daryl spent the better part of the day sprawled out in the living room with Rick's laptop and a pile of history books open around him—Rick couldn't help him, but they both decided it was fair that he could use anything from his massive history library that he thought might help him.  
  
And while Daryl worked, Rick spent the time catching up on laundry and moving some more of his bedroom (including their favorites from the toy drawer) down to the guest room.  
  
“How's it going?” Rick asked, plopping down in the recliner with a basket of warm laundry to fold.

“Who asks for ten thousand words on anything?” Daryl pouted and glared at him.

“Me.”  
  
“Yeah, well, you're a dick,” Daryl said, unable to keep a straight face because something about watching Rick fold sweatpants made his heart do funny things that he couldn't quite explain.  
  
“How many you have?”

“Three.”

“Better have at least seven by tonight, or I'll have to cancel dinner,” Rick said, taking a second to press his face into a big, fluffy towel before folding it up.  
  
“Seven?” Daryl asked with an edge of challenge to his voice. “Pfft. I'm gonna be done.”

“Oh ho ho,” Rick said. “Big talk there, Mr. Dixon.”

“Gonna be finished, and tomorrow we're gonna spend all day figuring out how else you can fuck me.”

Rick smirked but didn't look up from the laundry basket, pulling out socks that at least mostly matched and pairing them off. Daryl was amazed that he'd ever thought Rick was so damn put-together.  
  
“So where's all your tweed and your fancy sexy professor pants?” Daryl asked.  
  
“Dry cleaner's,” Rick said. “I need to go pick that up today too before they close.”  
  
“Mhm,” Daryl said. “Gotta look all hot and distracting on...on..." Daryl rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Monday.”  
  
“Of course,” Rick said like he hadn't noticed. “Can't have you all concentrating too hard on actually learning.”

“Shut up, Rick,” Daryl teased. “You're distractin me now.”

“Wish I could distract you more,” Rick said. “But I'm an asshole who asks for ten thousand word essays from people on my first day back from an unexpected vacation.”  
  
“And that's why we're all secretly plannin your murder.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm. I get to hide the body. No one will suspect the cripple.”

“Somewhere nice, I hope. Lots of flowers?”

“And ducks. Maybe the bottom of a pond.”

“I like it,” Rick said, folding the last thing--a pair of navy boxer briefs--and laying them on top of the pile. “Ducks are my favorite.”

“Mine too,” Daryl said, glancing over at his duck from Shane, the little fluff sitting propped against the couch close enough to a book that from the right angle it looked like it was reading it.  
  
“I'm in a relationship with you and that duck for the rest of my life, aren't I?” Rick asked, piling the clean laundry back in the basket so he could go put everything away.

“Yep. Rick and Daryl and Roanoke the duck.”

Rick's head snapped up, and the look he gave Daryl made the younger man's heart constrict tightly in his chest, and God if they ever did break up, he was probably going to literally die.  
  
“What'd you say his name was?” Rick asked, looking at the duck again and then at Daryl.

“Our first date and something you love almost as much as me.” Daryl fidgeted. “I thought about Mr. Duckson, but I wanted something more, you know, us.”

Rick looked about ready to drop the laundry basket and kiss him like they were the main characters in a Harlequin Romance, but instead he smiled warmly, his blue eyes all drunk with love and affection, and then he held up the basket.  
  
“Gonna put these up. You and Roanoke get back to work.”

“Fine,” Daryl grumbled, but he picked up one of Rick's massive books anyway and started turning back through the pages for more information on the Roman empire, cursing Professor Grimes, all the while smiling because he knew somewhere Rick was putting clothes away and probably smiling too.

* * *

Their double date with Glenn and Maggie ended up turning into more of a quadruple date. Rick opened the door expecting to find just the two of them, but instead he found a driveway full of cars and Maggie, Glenn, Aaron, Eric, Tara, and some girl he'd yet to see before who Tara introduced as Alicia.  
  
"Sup, Professor Kickass McNinja?" Tara said, offering him her fist.  
  
Rick bumped it, giving Maggie a little bit of a look at showing up with four extra people, but Daryl's face lit up when he saw all of his friends and Rick couldn't stay irritated for even a second when his boyfriend had a smile like that going.  
  
“I brought cupcakes,” Eric said, sliding them onto Rick's counter top after they all followed him to the kitchen.  
  
“Nice place,” Tara said, looking around. She seemed to have grabbed a meat and cheese tray from the store and tossed it onto the counter next to Eric's contribution.  
  
“It really is,” Maggie said, leaning down to hug Daryl where he sat at the dining room table.  
  
“How you feeling?” she asked, at almost exactly the same time as Aaron. The two of them smiled at each other and looked back at Daryl.  
  
“It hurts and it sucks,” Daryl said, shrugging. “But I'm alive.”

“Hmm,” Rick said, looking around at his now-packed kitchen. “I've got leaves for the table, but don't ask me where they are.”

Aaron plopped down on the floor and leaned back against the island bar, patting the tile until Eric sat down beside him.  
  
“We're good here,” he said, taking Eric's hand. Rick nodded and went out the sliding doors to the back patio to grab a couple more chairs to put at the table. Tara and Alicia took them before he could wipe the dust off, neither of them seemingly that worried about getting their butts dirty.  
  
“I didn't really cook for this many...” Rick looked around at everyone, somehow feeling more nervous than he had the entire time he'd been with his boyfriend. Because these were Daryl's friends which meant that he was the one being scrutinized here no matter how they'd viewed him back when he was just their adviser.  
  
“You didn't really cook at all,” Daryl teased, reaching for Rick's hand and jerking his head toward the chair next to him. “We can survive on cupcakes and salami.”

“I've got twenty,” Tara said, looking through her wallet. “I'll throw in for a pizza.”

“Me too,” Alicia said. And there was a murmur of agreement as everyone pooled their money, and Rick ordered a few pizzas to supplement the casserole Daryl had helped him make.  
  
“So Daryl,” Tara said, casually trying a spoonful of noodles and chicken, “how's Rick in bed?”

Rick choked on his wine, and Daryl laughed at him, patting him on the back while he coughed it all out of his lungs.  
  
“You need to ease up, dude,” she said. “Pretty sure you already made it through the friend approval process when you kicked that bastard's ass. Fast-tracked, even.”  
  
She had a point, but that had been a vastly different and more emotional situation and they'd all been too focused on Daryl to turn the magnifying glass on him.

“Doesn't matter if you all approve of him anyway,” Daryl said, playing with Rick's fingers and giving him a pretty significant look. “Only matters if I do.”

And then, a little unexpectedly because they hadn't been in any situations where they even could think about displaying affection in front of others, Daryl pulled him into a kiss. Tara clapped.  
  
“Now it's a party,” she said, and she grabbed the wine and poured some for both her and Alicia.

* * *

It wasn't long until the pizza came, and everyone there who could drink got good and thoroughly drunk. Tara and Alicia disappeared into the back yard, presumably to make out in the hammock. Eric practically migrated all the way into Aaron's lap, his cheeks flushed pink as they talked low to each other and stole kisses right there on the kitchen floor. Meanwhile, sober as they were, Glenn and Maggie were still making eyes at each other like they couldn't wait their turn to join in.  
  
The whole situation made Daryl happy beyond measure. It had been a hard time for him lately, and he knew it wasn't over and wouldn't be for a long time, but this was his home now, and everyone he cared about was there, all of them content in their own ways.  
  
“Shit, what did I miss?” someone asked, and Daryl found that he knew Shane's voice now before he even looked up.  
  
“You know,” Rick started, standing up and giving Shane a hug that struck Daryl as the most masculine thing he'd ever seen his boyfriend (or anyone else really) do, “just because you have a key doesn't mean you shouldn't still fucking knock.”

“Well excuse me for not knowing you were having a party I wasn't invited to,” Shane said, taking one of the chairs Tara and Alicia had vacated. He looked around. “I guess I should've brought a date though.”  
  
“I can have you one here in five minutes lookin like that,” Eric slurred. “But I don't think you'd be interested.”

“Nah, man,” Shane said. “But I really appreciate knowing I could play for both teams even if I don't.”

“Don't mind Shane,” Rick said. “He's an asshole.”

“But I'm Rick's asshole. Probably his second favorite asshole in this room.”  
  
" _Shane_."

“Should I be worried?” Daryl asked, winking at his boyfriend's best friend.  
  
“Nope,” Shane said. “That, hmm, how did Rick put it...?”  
  
“Shane.”  
  
“Mindblowingly fucktastic?”

“Stop.” Rick buried his face in his hands.  
  
“No, that's not right.” Shane looked at the wall and pretended to concentrate. “That 'gloriously unforgettable' sex is all yours, Desperado.”  
  
“I'm going to kill you,” Rick said, and Daryl could see even with Rick's hands over his face just how pink he was. He had to imagine that not all of that was the wine.  
  
“Desperado?” Daryl asked. “Wait, that played on the radio our first date. I remember.”

“Shane, don't you fucking dare,” Rick said, but Daryl could already tell from the smirk on Shane's face that whatever it was Rick didn't want him to say, he was damn well already planning on saying it.

“That's your other nickname,” Shane said, looking smug. “He didn't tell you?”

Rick responded by grabbing the wine bottle and drinking straight from it.  
  
“Hey, man,” Shane said, “Drinkin's what got you into this mess, remember?”  
  
Rick flipped him off.

“My other nickname?”

“Rick told you bout where the duck thing's from, right?” Shane asked. And Rick just sat next to him drinking and shaking his head, his ears a perfect tickle-me pink.  
  
“Yeah. Got drunk after he tried to bang me in my dorm.”

“What?” Eric gasped, and Daryl remembered that he and Aaron (and Glenn and Maggie) were all still sitting there, and that only Maggie knew about that night Rick tried to put the moves on him for the first time.  
  
“Long story,” Rick said. “I'm an idiot.”

“Mhm,” Shane said. “Well he decided you were Desperado, started singing it to me, how you needed to let him love you and shit.”

“Oh my God,” Daryl said.  
  
“Oh my God,” Maggie said.

“Oh my GOD,” Eric said.  
  
Rick downed the rest of the bottle and plopped it down onto the dining room table with a thud.  
  
“Sing,” Daryl said. “I've never actually heard you, and that's two stories now that involve you drunk-singing.”

“Yeah, and one I got arrested and the other I very nearly blew everything with you,” Rick said. “Drunk-singing and I aren't friends.”

Daryl pouted at him.  
  
“Don't,” Rick said.  
  
Daryl pouted harder.  
  
“I'm going to kill you, Shane. Between having to deal with how fucking precious it is watching him cuddle that stupid fucking duck and this.”

“I love you too, brother,” Shane said.  
  
“Riiick,” Daryl said, walking his fingers up his thigh and trying to look as cute as he could possibly manage, which must have been cute enough because Rick sighed and grabbed another half-empty wine bottle, taking a huge swig and shaking his head. He looked down at the floor, sighed again, and started singing.  
  
“ _Desperado, why don't you come to your senses? Come down from your fences, open the gate._ ”  
  
It was deep and awful and precious and off-key and somehow sexy all at once.  
  
“ _It may be raining. But there's a rainbow above you. You better let somebody love you_ —alright that's enough.”

“I changed my mind,” Daryl said, not drunk himself but definitely feeling the pain pill he'd taken around his second slice of pizza.  
  
“About being with me?” Rick teased.  
  
“About when we're having more sex. I can't wait until tomorrow.”

“Bam,” Shane said. “Still the wing man champion. Suck it, Rick.”

“Might go the other way around on that,” Daryl said, and Shane's eyes went wide before he started chuckling.  
  
“I think Eric and I are going to go,” Aaron said, helping his drunk boyfriend up off the floor.

“Aw, why?” Daryl asked.

“Because now I'm horny,” Eric said, swaying on his feet. Aaron steadied him easily and shrugged at Daryl, giving him a small smile.  
  
“So wait a minute. Are you two hot or something?” Shane asked, looking at Rick and Daryl and the way their hands were clasped together loosely between them. Everyone except Glenn said “yes.”

“Better question,” Shane said. “Am I hot or something?”

Rick thew a napkin ring at him, and he ducked it easily.  
  
“You're not so bad,” Aaron said. “But you're not this one.” He pulled Eric closer to him by the waist and the other man smiled at him like he was a dream.  
  
“Home,” Eric said. “Or the side of the road. I don't care.”

“Home,” Rick insisted, turning on his in-charge, authority voice easily, giving both men a serious look.  
  
“Don't worry,” Aaron said. “I've got him. Tell Tara and Alicia bye for us.”

“Sure thing,” Maggie said. And Aaron led Eric out of the kitchen and the front door.  
  
“I think we might go soon too,” she said. “Someone assigned a pretty nasty essay I need to finish up tomorrow.”

“Daryl tried to get everyone out of it, but even he's not that good,” Rick said.  
  
“Don't suppose I could have him alone for a bit?” she asked, looking from Rick to Glenn to Shane. The three of them stood up.  
  
“Back yard?” Shane asked.  
  
“No, Tara and Alicia are out there probably ma—front porch,” Rick said, and the three of them left Daryl and Maggie alone in the kitchen. She waited until she heard the front door close to speak.  
  
“How are you really?” she asked.  
  
“Weird,” Daryl said, because he couldn't think of a better word. “Happy because I have him and a home, but I'm never going to be, you know, whole ever again? Even when everything finishes healing, I'm going to have things wrong that are never going away. And I'm scared, because I think my brain might be messed up, and I don't...”

Maggie scooted her chair closer so she could put her hand over his on the table.  
  
“I'm so sorry this happened to you,” she said. “If I could slap him again, I would.”

“I thought that at first,” Daryl said. “If I could see him and kick his ass myself... But it wouldn't, you know, it wouldn't...” He struggled to find the words and shook his head. There was that wall again, the one he couldn't seem to get around, and he knew whatever he wanted to say was so fucking simple if he could just...  
  
“Fix you?” Maggie asked. And the phrase clicked into place so well that Daryl almost sighed with relief.  
  
“Yeah.”

“I'd say you don't need to be fixed, but that seems a little insensitive.”

“I'm pretty fucked up, Mags,” Daryl said. “But at least Rick still wants me.”

“Why wouldn't he?” Maggie asked. “You're still the man he fell in love with. And you're still the gorgeous boy who caught his eye even if you walk a little funny right now and look like you've been through hell.”

“Thanks, Maggie.”

“I can imagine that it's gonna get real frustrating, but just try to remember you have all of us to lean on when it gets hard. And try to come to more of us than just him. He's going to try to be as strong for you as he can. I've already seen him do it that week you were in the hospital. But his shoulders are going to need a break, and he'd never ask you for one.”

Daryl put his head down on the table and let his cheek rest softly against their hands, nodding at her.

“So you and Glenn,” he said, “I never really got to ask you how that's going.”

“Great,” Maggie said. “He's what I needed, what I still need. Patient and he never asks for more than I want to give him. Actually...” She looked around just to make sure no one was listening even though they both knew they were alone in the house. “We finally had sex for the first time last night.”

“I thought you guys were already,” Daryl said. After all, he'd definitely seen them in bed together naked, and he'd definitely heard Maggie moaning. But Maggie shook her head.  
  
“We fooled around a lot. _A lot_. Touching and everything but sex, but no. I wasn't ready to do that again yet.”

“What changed?” Daryl asked.

“I love him,” she said. “And the other morning he woke up, and the way he looked at me as soon as his eyes opened, I knew it wasn't just me. You can fake words, but you can't fake that. I never got anything like it from Philip. And if I had known the way love was really supposed to look, maybe I would've realized I didn't have it.”

“I know what you mean,” Daryl said, letting Maggie pet his hair. “No one's ever looked at me like Rick does. Ever. Not even close.”

“That man would die for you,” Maggie said. “When we showed up to your room that night, his face standing there fighting for you... I honestly feel sorry for anyone who ever tries to hurt you, because I would not want to be on his bad side when he's like that.”

“Wouldn't want to be on yours either from what I hear.”

“If he left anything for me to work with, maybe not,” Maggie said. “But he wouldn't.”

“I'd probably do it for him too,” Daryl said. “Right now I'd have to beat them to death with my crutches, but I'd give a good try.”

Maggie laughed.  
  
“I love you so much, Daryl Dixon,” she said. “Don't ever scare me like that again.”

“Nah,” he said. “I reckon one near-death experience is enough for a lifetime. The second one will be in a hundred years and it'll be when Rick and I go out together in a blaze of old man glory.”

“I like the sound of that,” Maggie said. “All of us at once so no one has to be sad at anyone else's funeral.”

“Deal,” Daryl said. “Knievel style jumping over flaming sharks in our electric wheelchairs.”  
  
Maggie smiled and kissed the back of his head.  
  
“I really should go,” she said. “You finish that darned essay yet?”  
  
“Yeah,” Daryl said. “So I could have tomorrow free to ride Rick into the sunset.”  
  
Maggie laughed.  
  
“He'd probably let you borrow some of his books I used. Was a lot easier than digging for stuff online.”

“I'll ask,” she said standing up. “See you Monday. We'll talk about when we can go get you another shirt to murder your boyfriend with.”

“Yeah,” Daryl said. “Wonder who else we know who would like shopping. You need a murder shirt too now, huh? Maybe some murder underpants?”

“Lingerie?” she asked, raising her eyebrow at the word 'underpants.' “Guess it will be Glenn's birthday soon.”

“I'm sure someone in our group wouldn't mind telling you if you look hot.”

“I'm sure you're right.” She hugged him tight and said good-bye again, and then she left, sending Rick and Shane back in from the porch.  
  
“Getting tired there, Desperado?” Shane asked when he walked back in to find Daryl with his head down on the table.  
  
“Mhm,” Daryl said. Man when those pills hit him at just the right time, it was like someone turning a dimmer switch almost all the way down.  
  
“He's kinda cute,” Shane said. “I can see the appeal if I turn my head to the side like...”

Rick smacked him on the arm.  
  
“I'll go get the girls out of the backyard,” Shane volunteered a little too eagerly, and he was out the sliding glass doors before Rick could stop him.  
  
“Don't worry,” Daryl yawned, grabbing Rick's hand and pulling it onto his head so the other man would stroke his hair. “Tara can handle him.”

“Alicia doesn't seem like a pushover either,” Rick said. And sure enough, Shane came back in with his hands up in surrender barely a heartbeat later.  
  
“Sorry, sorry,” Shane said, the two girls following behind him. “Just trying to get everyone home so my boy and his boy can get some sleep.”

“Bastard,” Tara said. Shane looked to Rick for help but Rick shook his head.  
  
“On your own, Walsh.”

“Sorry,” Shane said again.  
  
“You can make it up to us by driving us home,” Alicia said. “We're still drunk. Or I am at least.”

“Yeah,” Tara said. “That oughta make us even.”  
  
“Fine,” Shane said, grabbing his keys. “You two feel free to continue though.”

Tara and Alicia both hit him on opposite arms.  
  
“You're a pig, Shane,” Rick said.  
  
“I know, man. I know.”

The girls shoved him toward the door and the three of them left. It wasn't too long before Daryl heard the car doors slam. And then they were alone.  
  
“I changed my mind again,” Daryl said, practically asleep on the kitchen table. There was no way he wouldn't fall asleep in the middle of it if they tried to have sex tonight.  
  
“I figured.”  
  
“Sorry.”

“I'm not really worried about it, sweetheart,” Rick said. “Come on.” He helped Daryl up off the chair.  
  
“I can do it,” Daryl protested.

“I don't doubt you can when you're not half passed-out on painkillers,” Rick said.  
  
Well, he had a point there.  
  
So he let the other man slip his arm under his knees and armpits, lifting him up and carrying him to the bedroom to set him down gently on the mattress.  
  
“Rick,” Daryl started, and Rick put his finger on his lips before stealing a kiss.  
  
“I know,” Rick said. “He's still in the living room.”

“Thanks.”  
  
Rick disappeared just long enough to bring his crutches and his duck in, and then he snuggled up next to him, Roanoke squished in between his stomach and Daryl's side.  
  
“I love you,” Daryl said quietly, barely able to hold his eyes open.  
  
“I love you too. And our family.”

“Our family?” Daryl asked, wishing he was well enough to properly cuddle his lover. He wanted to curl up against his side and wrap every limb around him like a drugged-up koala.

“You, me, Maggie, Glenn, Aaron, Eric, Tara, Shane. My grandpa always used to say the family you choose, those who choose you back, are better than the family you're born into. There's always more loyalty behind a choice than there is behind an obligation.”  
  
Daryl smiled, imagining his friends as brothers and sisters. They felt like them too, because he'd probably do anything for any one of them and he knew they would do the same. “I've never had a decent family.”

“You do now,” Rick said, and he leaned over and kissed his temple. “Good night, Daryl.”

“Night, chocolate chip,” Daryl said, finding Rick's fingers and lacing them together with his own before finally letting sleep and the medication swallow him down. This time, he slept soundly until morning.


	31. Envelopes and Pancakes

Rick stared down at the envelope on his desk, the upper left-hand corner marked with the official seal of the Alexandria University's President's office. Honestly, he had expected to be less worried about this than he was. He had been anticipating it and dreading it since Daryl stabilized enough in the hospital that he could actually think about something else, and really, truthfully he'd known wholeheartedly that it was coming all along.   
  
So why was he looking at the letter, stark white against the dark mahogany, like it might combust at any moment and set him on fire? And why did his hands start shaking violently every time he reached for it?  
  
“Do you want me to do it?” Shane asked, putting his hand on Rick's shoulder. Rick looked over at him. When had he gotten up and walked around the desk?  
  
Rick handed it to him like like it was an obituary for a mutual friend.  
  
“No, wait.” Rick thought briefly about calling Daryl, about finding him wherever he was on campus and going to him so he could have him by his side, but then he thought about Daryl seeing him like this and decided he'd better not. “Never mind. Go ahead.”  
  
Shane tore the side off the envelope and pulled out the folded papers inside. He read over them fully before he even started to tell Rick what was going on, and the wait practically drove Rick mad. He fidgeted in his desk chair, so jittery that the whole thing wouldn't stop squeaking.   
  
“Shane, please.”

“Disciplinary hearing next Tuesday.” 

“Because of him?”

“Doesn't say, man,” Shane said. “But I reckon we all know the answer to that already.”

Rick covered his face with his hands and put them down on his desk. 

“I have to take care of him,” Rick said.  
  
“Hey, this ain't a death sentence,” Shane said. “Might just slap you on the wrist. You don't know. After all, you haven't helped him with shit.”

“They won't care. There's no proof I haven't, and if the other students found out, they'd see it like I had.”

“You don't know what's gonna happen until it happens,” Shane said. 

“Fuck,” Rick groaned.  
  
“It played out the way it was gonna. Not like you could've sent anyone in your place that night. He'd be dead.”

The thought stabilized Rick slightly. Shane was right. He'd made the only choice he could make, and whatever came from it came from it.

But still... Fuck. 

“You stay here," Shane said. "I'll be back.”

“What?” Rick asked. 

“Stay,” Shane said again, a little more firmly. Like Rick really had anywhere to go anyway. He still had a class that afternoon, and the only place he might rather be would be in Daryl's arms, and then he'd have to explain to him why he was sweating and trembling, and Daryl had enough to worry about with trying to catch up on everything he had missed while he was away.  
  
So he stayed, tearing the envelope into pieces, folding little shreds of paper into triangles, trying and failing to remember how to make an origami swan. He put his head down again, fidgeting until he heard Shane return, followed by the sound of something heavy plopping onto his desk by his head.  
  
Rick looked up and found a Styrofoam container waiting for him. He popped it open and pulled out two brownies, one for each hand.  
  
“Anyway, man,” Shane said, sitting back down and putting his feet up on Rick's desk before resuming his cup of coffee. “Whatever happens, I'll be right behind you.”

“Thanks, Shane,” Rick said through a mouthful of chocolate. Man, it must have been a fresh batch because they were still warm. 

“And he'll be right in front of you,” Shane said with a smug smile.

“Fuck off, Shane.” But Rick laughed anyway. He could do this. He could. Right? 

* * *

It felt weird to be back in his dorm room after everything, but there he was, buried under a mountain of photo-copied notes from some cute giggly girl in his afternoon class and trying to make sense of everything he'd missed.  
  
The room had clearly been cleaned up and repaired since he was gone, the hole in the drywall patched up and spackled over. But if he looked just right, he was pretty sure he could still see spots of blood on the carpet. He wondered if it was his or his dad's. He wondered if it mattered.  
  
“Hey, dude,” Glenn said, walking in with Maggie at his heels. “We brought you food.”  
  
Daryl looked up at him and accepted the offering of a hamburger, french fries covered in chili and nacho cheese, and a cup of fountain soda. In a way, he was grateful, because trying to get around a college campus on crutches was a fucking bitch. And not some yippie little chihuahua of a bitch either. No, a fucking German Shepherd.  
  
But in another, he wasn't. Going to get food even if had taken him an hour just to get back to the student center would have given him an excuse to leave the room, one he gladly would have taken.   
  
“Thanks,” he said, grabbing a fry and chowing down on it. He hoped food would something to quiet the discomfort currently taking hold inside of him, because he felt like his stomach was an ant farm.    
  
“You need any help going through those notes?” Maggie asked. No, that wasn't the problem. It was a pretty simple class. His problem was that he couldn't focus on anything but how that spot there was where his dad had nearly murdered him. Right there. Right there is where there might be a fucking chalk outline of his corpse right now if his text hadn't made it to Shane. Or if Shane had ignored it or seen it a minute later. Or if Shane hadn't been able to call Rick. One moment longer, one more hit from that helmet. Daryl looked up at the ceiling, the only thing that didn't seem to be tainted.

“I can't live here anymore,” he blurted out. And the churning inside of him got a little less intense. 

“Then don't,” Maggie said. “No one would blame you.”

“I tried to get us a new room,” Glenn said. “When they were fixing everything, I asked if we could just move. But they're full up this semester. They've got some places over in Maggie's hall, but they're being dicks because we didn't pay for that dorm.”

“It's okay,” Daryl said. “I'll talk to Rick. I just...” 

“You don't have to explain,” Maggie said. “I wouldn't want to if I were you.”

“Got used to sleeping in his arms anyway,” Daryl said. “Probably be up all night if I try to stay here.”

He had Roanoke with him, of course. And about four stolen pairs of sweat pants and shirts that still sort of smelled like strawberries if he concentrated hard enough. He thought he'd make it through. He really had, but there was no way. 

“Guess I should call him before he goes home.”

“I'll drive you if I have to,” Maggie offered. Daryl nodded at her and picked up his phone, hitting Rick's contact button and waiting for him to pick up. 

“Daryl,” Rick breathed, like it was a relief to hear from him. Daryl's instincts prickled.   
  
“You okay, Rick?"

“Are you busy?”

“Uh,” Daryl looked down at his notes and his dinner. “Nothing I can't do somewhere else.” Please, God, please let me do this shit anywhere else? 

“I'll pick you up,” Rick said.

“That's the thing,” Daryl started, “Can I, maybe, could I...”

“What is it, darlin? Are _you_ okay?” Rick asked. 

“Can I move in early? All I see here is...”

“Pack a bag for a few days,” Rick said, mercifully cutting him so he wouldn't have to finish. “We'll get the rest later.”

“Thank you.”

“I'll be waiting downstairs.”

Daryl gathered up his notes and books and threw them all into his book bag along with a few clothes. Honestly he didn't care much about anything but having his own underwear. He was perfectly content to wear old pairs of Rick's university sweatpants for the rest of his life, and really, putting on real pants in his condition was even more of a chore than just getting dressed in general.

Maggie helped him carry everything down, throwing it into the backseat of Rick's car and setting his crutches back there too after he crawled into the front seat. 

“Thanks, Maggie,” Daryl said.  
  
“Always,” she said, pushing his hair back and kissing him on the forehead. “See you soon.”

Daryl nodded and closed the passenger side door. 

* * *

Rick looked over at him, suddenly aware that he'd started white-knuckling the steering wheel sometime on the drive over and that he hadn't stopped. He relaxed his hands, curling and uncurling his fingers into fists to try to get out some of the tension.  
  
Should he tell him? Would it just make him worry?  
  
He turned around and pulled out of half-road in front of the dorm, turning onto the street that would take him toward home. He realized the radio was still on from this morning, The Decemberists softly filtering out into the quiet car, just loud enough that he could make out the song but only just.   
  
The house is paid off. You have enough in savings to get you through a while. You were ready for this.  
  
Rick played with the leather stitching on the steering wheel while he drove, thumbing over the criss-crossed texture of it without really feeling it.  
  
“Um, Rick,” Daryl said. Rick glanced at him and then back at the road. They were passing Bubba's Pawn Shop, which meant he was already halfway home, which meant he'd driven halfway home without saying a word to Daryl at all other than the quick "hi" when he got in the car.   
  
“Mhm?” Rick asked.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Rick immediately pulled into the nearest parking lot, which happened to be for a dental office that had probably closed up for the day about an hour ago.  
  
“No,” Rick said, already reaching for him to give him a reassuring touch.

“What's wrong?” Daryl asked, touching Rick's hand where it rested on his shoulder. For once, Rick was the one who needed to be touched, so he pulled Daryl's hand to his face and pressed it against his smoothly-shaven chin, closing his eyes and just feeling the warmth of it. It was like an anchor, or maybe more like a counterweight. Either way, having Daryl there made him feel more balanced and steady.

“I don't want you to worry,” Rick said.

“What's wrong?” Daryl repeated, more strongly this time. “Is it your job? Did they find out about me?”

Rick sighed and nodded into Daryl's hand, still holding it there on his face and trying to let it keep him from sinking. Maybe it was more of a life raft than an anchor. 

“Did you get fired?” Daryl asked. “I'm sorry. I should've been strong enough to stay away from you. You don't d-”

“Stop,” Rick said. “And I don't know. I have a hearing next week. Gotta sit in front of the president and whoever she picks for her disciplinary committee.”

“I'll come,” Daryl said. “If it'll help, I mean. I'll come and tell them that you didn't do anything wrong, that I'm still barely passing your fuckin class. I'm sure Maggie would too. She knows the truth.”

“I don't know if that would help or not,” Rick said. “Shane told me not to worry yet, but I don't see how it could go any other way.”

“Hey,” Daryl said, thumbing over the smooth skin of Rick's chin. “Remember what you told me. We'll figure it out. We. Us. Together.”

“At least the house is taken care of,” Rick said. “We might be broke, but we won't be homeless.”

“See,” Daryl said. “Gotta stay positive and shit.”

“Yeah,” Rick said. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Now let's go home,” Daryl said. “You can hold me up while I make you some brownies.”

“Brownies would be good,” Rick said, knowing full well that he'd already eaten about ten today, but whatever. This was a fucking stressful situation and pouring more chocolate on it couldn't hurt.  
  
“I'll put caramel chips in them.”

“Did you eat?” Rick asked. 

“No, Glenn and Maggie brought me food, but I just wanted to get out of there. Felt like crawling out of my skin,” Daryl said.

“Can I take you to dinner?” Rick asked. “We never got to go.” And he could use the distraction, could use losing himself in Daryl sitting at a table, in Daryl getting more of some of the treatment he'd really deserved his whole life. 

Daryl looked down at his stolen sweatpants and his (also stolen) Roanoke Island tee shirt.  
  
“I'll take you somewhere they won't care,” Rick said. “Besides, who's gonna make fun of the cute little duck on crutches?”

“Fine,” Daryl said, but the corner of his mouth twitched anyway. And then his stomach rumbled and Rick took that as an opportunity to pull out of the parking lot.  
  
Somewhere people wouldn't care turned out to be an IHOP because it was the first place Rick saw that was an actual sit-down-and-eat place. Well, except for Cracker Barrel, and Rick fucking hated Cracker Barrel. Overrated dump.   
  
It wasn't the nice Italian dinner he'd planned to celebrate Daryl making the archery team, but it was dinner with Daryl just the same. He watched the younger man cut big, rough bites of his cheesecake pancakes off and shove them into his mouth. He kept watching, taking in the way he'd chase a bite sometimes with a piece of bacon, the way he'd sip his coke and how he barely touched his napkin, opting instead to lick syrup, grease, and strawberry flavor directly off his hands. He only used the napkin to wipe the rings from his drink off the table.   
  
Rick finished his chicken and waffles and waited patiently for Daryl to finish mopping up fruit syrup with his fingers, cleaning his plate so much that you almost couldn't tell it had ever even held food. Daryl smiled at him with his eyes while he finished sucking eat digit clean.  
  
The whole display should have turned him on, but the mood wasn't right, and instead Rick just found it some weird mix of endearing and sad. Because it was adorable that Daryl wasn't willing to waste even a crumb, but underneath that he knew there was probably some deeply-rooted reason for it.  
  
“Can I get you fellas anything else?” the server asked, flipping a stray lock of her shiny blonde hair back with one hand.  
  
“I think we're good,” Rick said and she smiled, placing the check down on the table and sliding it toward Daryl instead of him.  
  
“Guess I look like the one with money,” Daryl said, amused because they both knew he definitely didn't, not with Rick sitting there all slacks and blue tweed. But he picked up the ticket first to look at it and then snorted. “Or not.”

“What?” Rick asked, and Daryl handed the check over to him. 

 _I'm Lyndsy. ;)  
_ _980-555-1239_

“Should I keep this for you?” Rick asked.   
  
“Shut up,” Daryl said, blushing. “I'm not used to people, you know, looking at me.”

“I've been looking at you all semester,” Rick said.

“You don't count anymore. I like it when you look at me.”

“Let's go,” Rick said. He threw a twenty down on the table for a tip, ignoring the part of him that said he probably shouldn't be spending money that freely. He felt bad for the girl. He knew what Daryl Dixon could do to your soul with just one interaction, and she never even had a shot. And hey, he could use the karma points right now if that was even a real thing.  
  
“Do you want this back?” the cashier asked after checking them out, presumably because of Lyndsy's number scrawled on top.

“Nah,” Daryl said. “Just, will you tell her I'm gay? Don't want her to think there's anything wrong with her when I don't call. She's real cute if I was into that sort of thing. You can tell her that too. She's pretty. Tell her she's pretty.”

“Uh, sure,” she said, looking at the two of them standing a little too close to each other, their arms almost touching. There was a flutter of disgust across her face, like they had both just turned into giant piles of worms, and then she gave them a fake smile and told them to have a nice night. Rick ignored it, opening the door for Daryl and hoping he hadn't noticed.

Rick followed his lover back out to the car, slowing his usually fast and purposeful stride to match Daryl's pace on his crutches. For a minute, he was okay with the idea that his life might be completely wrecked. But then worry crept its way back in. How was he going to pay those hospital bills AND still have enough for them to live on? What about utilities? What about food? 

“It's gonna be okay, right?” Rick asked when they were nearly to the car. He needed to hear someone besides Shane say it. He needed to hear it from someone who actually used his brain for more than picking up chicks.   
  
“Gotta be,” Daryl said. “And if it ain't, sex is still free.”

Rick laughed and opened the door for him. 

“Sex in our house with no lights or air conditioning or water,” Rick said, nodding.  
  
“Yeah, there's your worst case scenario,” Daryl said, sliding in awkwardly and pulling his right leg in, the whole thing barely fitting even with the seat all the way back. “We'll have to fuck constantly because we won't have money to do anything else.”

Rick laughed again, and then he took a deep breath and put the crutches in the back seat. Daryl was just screwing around and trying to make him feel better, but he had a point. Worst case scenario, they had a home and each other. And it's not like Rick couldn't get some sort of job, right? And hell, Daryl would graduate eventually and probably go on to fix classic cars for rich dudes or something. 

“Thank you,” Rick said, leaning down to kiss him. “I needed that.”

He shut the door and climbed in on his own side, pulling out of the parking lot and letting Daryl hold his hand on top of the gear shift the whole way home.

They spent the rest of the night making caramel-swirl brownies and going through Daryl's notes that he'd missed from his other class, Rick holding him on the couch and helping him sort through them properly now that he was somewhere he felt safe and could actually focus. 

“I think I'm good,” Daryl said after going through and copying the more relevant points into his own notebook. Rick gave him a quick five-question quiz, and he passed with flying colors.  
  
“I think you are too.”

“Can we go to bed now?” Daryl asked. 

“Bed or _bed_?” 

“Fuck off, asshole. I'm tired.”

Rick snorted so hard he spit on him a little. Daryl made a face and wiped it off, rubbing it on Rick's shirt. 

“Gross,” Daryl said, still wiping his hand on the white tee Rick wore under his button-up.

“Sorry,” Rick said, helping Daryl stand up with his hands pushing on Daryl's cute little ass. Damn't, why couldn't it be _bed_? 

“Guess we're there, huh?” Daryl said. “The spitting on each other phase of the relationship. Next you'll be farting and picking your nose in front of me.” Daryl let out an over-the-top sigh. “Oh, Rick, where did the magic go?”

“Pretty sure you and me are always gonna have magic,” Rick said, slipping his arms around Daryl's waist and tilting his head toward him. Daryl pulled away and made a face at him. 

“Nuh uh,” he said. “You just spit on me.”

But he clearly didn't mean it and he smiled and leaned back in to accept the kiss a moment later. 

“Sure it's not _bed_?” Rick asked.  
  
“Try me again in the morning,” Daryl said, leaning on his shoulder and nuzzling his nose into his neck.  
  
“Deal,” Rick said, and he swept him up in his arms, crutches and all.  
  
“I can fucking walk,” Daryl said. “Well, sorta.”

“I know,” Rick said. “But I'm impatient.”

“Whatever,” Daryl grumbled, but he let Rick carry him to the bed and deposit him in it anyway, leaning his crutches against the night stand and grabbing the duck he'd dumped in the middle of it earlier. He snuggled his face into the soft fuzz and sighed. 

“Should I leave you two alone?” Rick asked, stripping off his jeans and crawling into the bed in his tee shirt and boxers.  
  
“Sorry, are you jealous?”  
  
“A little.”

“Here then,” Daryl said, and he plopped the duck down on Rick's chest. 

“Not really the duck I wanted to hold.”

“Gotta hug him first if you wanna hug me.”

“Honestly,” Rick said, rolling his eyes, but he gave the thing a good squeeze. Man, Shane picked some high quality stuffed animals. Thing was fucking squishy. 

“Okay,” Daryl said. “My turn.” He laid his head right on the crook below Rick's shoulder, and Rick curled his forearm and fingers around his side, feeling the faint outline of Daryl's rib cage below his skin.  
  
“I'm going to keep you forever,” Rick said.  
  
“Fucking creepy, Rick,” he teased, and Rick felt the other man's hand slide on top of his.

“I mean it.”

“I think I'll let you,” Daryl said. And it was his last coherent sentence the younger man got out before he fell asleep. 

“Good,” Rick said, closing his eyes and feeling his body sink into that weird place between sleep and consciousness, where he was semi-aware of being awake and semi-aware that they were definitely not at a chocolate shop with unlimited free samples feeding truffles to each other. “Don't think I can live without you anymore.”

And then they were both gone, lost to dreams about each other. In Daryl's it was the Mustang, barreling down an empty road, both ears able to hear the wind whooshing by and Rick laughing next to him. In Rick's it was the kitchen, Daryl healed up, the two of them floating around each other in perfect harmony while Daryl taught him how to make a decent chocolate lasagna without fucking it up. 

In both dreams, they were together and happy, which they would have recognized wasn't that much different than real life if they could've pushed past unconsciousness long enough to think about it. 


	32. Promise Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some important things. 
> 
> Here is a [link](http://rickgrimespls.tumblr.com/post/100719522636/meeting-andy-part-1-he-was-so-beautiful-i-met) to a post of RickGrimesPls giving Andy a chocolate bar and him rubbing it on his head. I feel like that's relevant to this story. 
> 
> And here is a [link](http://zuzzolek.tumblr.com/post/78163937005/rickyl-au-daryl-is-a-student-where-rick-is-a) to a gifset of Rick/Daryl as professor and student. Someone brought it to my attention, and it's definitely worth a look, even though my Daryl is less Travis-y and probably wouldn't be caught dead in that scarf. :-p

Rick woke up the morning of the hearing covered in sweat, the blankets and pillows and the shoulder of Daryl's tee shirt all soaked and sticking to him.

The previous week had gone by quickly, Daryl spending most of his time either spread out on the couch or on the kitchen table, poring over notes and cramming for tests he had to make up, all the while studying for the history exam Rick had given on Monday.  
  
Rick had thought about canceling it, and he'd had a hard time focusing enough to even get all the pages copied and put together, but business as usual had seemed like the best way to deal with his dread. So he had somehow managed. But fuck if he was grading those damn things until Wednesday.  
  
He pulled away from Daryl and got the blankets off in a series of desperate, writhing kicks before smacking his mouth together and grimacing at how dry it was.  
  
“Rick?” Daryl said softly, yawning and rubbing his eyes before opening them.  
  
“Sorry,” Rick said. “Nightmare.”

The same one he'd been having every fucking night since about Thursday. In it, Daryl was drowning, and Rick was always about a finger's length too far to reach him. Usually he woke up right when Daryl started sinking, but this time he'd watched the other man go completely under. He'd stood there and waited for him to resurface, his stomach plummeting with every passing second.

Daryl reached for him, his left arm awkwardly searching for Rick's shoulder and tugging on it.

“C'mere,” he said.

“I'm covered in sweat, Daryl.”

“I'm covered in fucks I don't give. Said come here.” Daryl patted his own chest.

Rick scooted back over to Daryl and laid his head down on his sternum, letting the younger man finger through his waves, closing his eyes and trying to focus on nothing else but Daryl's fingertips brushing against his scalp.  
  
No matter what, you get to keep this.

“You remember that day after I came home when I was in a lot of pain and really stressed out?”

“Hmm?”

“Remember what you did for me?” Daryl asked, and Rick felt his lover's hand leave his hair and creep down his neck, his arm, his side.

“Daryl, you d-”

“Rick,” Daryl said firmly, “just lemme do somethin. Can't go to the damn thing with you and your shoulder is tighter than the bottom of a Pringles can. You been havin nightmares. I wanna help you.”

Rick considered it. His shoulders were really tense. All of him was. And who knew who long he was going to be in that damn hearing? Who knew how different things were going to be when he walked out of there? Hell, he'd already been debating going in early so he could go ahead and box up his office just so he wouldn't have to do some sort of pack-of-shame if it went south.

“Okay,” Rick said, his body already responding to the way Daryl thumbed over his hip bone. Or maybe it was just responding to the idea of working out some tension. Either way, when Daryl turned onto his side and reached to get a proper handful of Rick through his underwear, there was plenty there to grab hold of.

“How much time we got?” Daryl asked, subtly lifting his ear up off the pillow so he could properly hear whatever answer Rick gave him. Rick glanced over Daryl's shoulder at the little red numbers on the alarm clock. It was almost painful to know he'd woken up _that_ early.  
  
“Plenty,” Rick said. “Are kisses included?”

“Nope. Kisses are extra,” Daryl said.  
  
“Damn. What do I have to do?”

“You gotta promise me that you'll remember no matter what happens today, we're still gonna wake up next to each other in the mornin.”

Rick smiled despite the fact that he felt like his insides were currently made of cast iron.

“I promise,” he said, and Daryl pressed his lips to his. Rick loved it when Daryl kissed him first. With a few exceptions, Daryl kisses always started out soft and small, little pecks that led into full smooches before morphing into whatever the mood dictated. That morning, the mood dictated something between loving and sensual, between desperate and assuring.

They managed it easily, kissing like a summer thunderstorm—sometimes their lips crashed together eagerly and sometimes they let up a bit, rolling together in gentle waves.  
  
“I love you,” Rick sighed out, pulling away and resting his forehead against Daryl's while the younger man slipped his hand into his boxer-briefs. He didn't know if Daryl had heard him or not with his ear pressed into the pillow. He sought out his lover's eyes for confirmation, but he didn't quite make it before Daryl wrapped his fingers around him and made his own eyes flutter shut.  
  
“Just relax, buttercup,” Daryl said. “My turn to take care of you. Finally.”

Rick looked over at Daryl and then down between them to watch Daryl stroke him in long, firm pulls inside of his underwear. The callouses he used to have from constantly working in the garage had faded with him unable to properly slide under a vehicle, and Daryl's skin was soft as silk sliding down his erection.   
  
“Can you hear me?” Rick asked softly.  
  
“Mostly,” Daryl said, palming over the head of his cock and drawing out a small moan. “Sounds like a radio station you ain't quite gettin in but leave on because you like what's playin.”

“Thank you for this,” Rick said, rolling his hips into Daryl's hand. “It's helping. It really is.”

“Ain't even done,” Daryl said. He gave him another short peck on the lips and then he scooted down the bed, pulling Rick's hips forward. The two of them met somewhere in the middle, forming some sort of distorted T-shape on top of the mattress, or maybe more of a lowercase “h.” Daryl rubbed his cheek against the hard bulge in Rick's underwear.

“Jesus. You sure you don't just wanna fuck?” Rick asked.

“Huh?” Daryl said, lifting his head up.   
  
“N- Are you sure you don't just want me to fuck you?”

“Nope,” Daryl said. “This ain't about me, cupcake.”

Rick started to say something else, but Daryl mouthed over the tip of his hard-on before he could form the thought, and it slipped away like a stalk of hay in the wind.  
  
“Shit,” he said, feeling Daryl sucking through the fabric, the cotton quickly soaking through with his spit. Daryl blew on the wet spot and made him shiver.  
  
“Gonna kill me with all this teasing, sweetheart,” Rick said, and Daryl looked up at him with sparkling eyes, keeping them locked on him while he reached into slit in the front of his underwear and pulled him free. The younger man didn't break eye contact until Rick felt his cock hit the back of his throat.  
  
“Fuck,” Rick said, reaching down to grab hold of Daryl's hair. He could already feel the tension in his shoulders and back pulling even tighter, all of it ready to snap. He didn't know if Daryl had planned this morning blow job in advance or not, but the little shit had definitely brought his A game.  
  
He dipped down and sucked on Rick's balls, alternating back and forth between them, all the while vigorously working his length with his hand. He kept going until the spit on Rick's cock dried too much to keep rubbing, and then he took the whole length back in again, swallowing it down until Rick was sure he was going to gag on it. But Daryl didn't. Instead, he said “mm,” rolling his eyes in pleasure like Rick's dick was a gourmet fucking dessert.  
  
“Ah, shit,” Rick said. “How the hell are you even taking it that far?”

Daryl pulled off with a filthy-sounding slurp.  
  
“You complainin, old man?”

“Never,” Rick said, giving his boyfriend's head a small, encouraging push.  
  
“Impatient old coot,” Daryl muttered, but he put his mouth back on him anyway. Rick's hips bucked forward into the wet heat, and his muscles coiled even tighter. Good. The harder he released, the easier this day would fucking be. Hopefully.  
  
“I love you,” Daryl said, his lips brushing right against the tip of his cock when he said it, but somehow that didn't make the words feel any less true.

“Thank you,” Rick said, because right then Daryl's love and the fact that he would do this for him meant everything.

“Think you're supposed to say 'I love you too,'” Daryl said.  
  
“Well, obviously.”

“I don't know. I don't think I've ever heard you say it,” Daryl said, his eyes glittering.  
  
“Little sh-fuck,” Rick threw his head back into the pillow while Daryl slowly worked his lips all the way down, keeping them tight against his flesh with an almost ungodly amount of pressure. His mouth felt like a fucking vice made of heat, and Rick could feel his body hurtling toward completion with every bob of Daryl's head.  
  
“Gonna cum,” Rick said, pulling Daryl off of him by the hair just in time to shoot all over his face. Daryl used the bottom of Rick's tee shirt to wipe it off and then he worked his way back up the mattress to cuddle up next to him, or to do the best version of it that he could.  
  
The two of them stayed there for a while, Rick playing in Daryl's hair until he felt his eyes started drooping again. According to the clock, he still had another hour until he had to be awake. Maybe he could get a nap in.  
  
“How come you never finish in my mouth?” Daryl asked, right when Rick felt like he was about to fall back down into sleep. He jerked fully awake, his brain taking a full five seconds to process the question.  
  
“Being safe,” Rick said. “Been a while since I've been tested. Didn't wanna hurt you. Really, I shouldn't be letting you down there at all. Honestly, I should've gone long before now, but I've just been so caught up in, well, you.”

“That why you always wrap up before we fuck too?”

“Of course. Sometimes I don't want to, but then I think about it, and I'd hate myself.”

“Let's do it then,” Daryl said. “This weekend. Take care of it.”

“Sure,” Rick said. “Need to anyway.”

“Let's do it Friday, and then when everything's good, we can spend all weekend in bed.”

“Glad you assume I don't have any plans other than spending time with you all weekend,” Rick teased.

“I don't,” Daryl said. “Just assume that if you did, my ass would sound way more appealing.”

Rick laughed, his chuckle transforming into a yawn somewhere in the middle.  
  
“Gonna sleep a little more,” he said, already moving to lay his head on Daryl's chest. He felt the other man press a kiss onto his crown.

“I'll be here,” Daryl said. Rick fell asleep feeling oddly content. His nap was too short to give way to nightmares, and when he woke up he felt more peaceful than he had in days.

* * *

Rick had never been to a disciplinary hearing before, but he had imagined it a lot different than this. For some reason, in his head when he'd imagined the moment, he'd been in a single chair, sitting in front of an entire group of people on a raised platform, all of them looking down at him with condemnation.  
  
In reality, it was no different than most of the history department meetings. It took place in a conference room in the administration area on the top floor of the student center. Rick sat on one end of the table, and President Deanna Monroe (proud university legacy) and her chosen two sat on the other. Three. Three people to decide his fate. Appropriate. His inner nerd would've laughed under any other circumstances.  
  
“Water?” President Monroe asked, gesturing toward the pitcher in the middle of the table.  
  
Rick's mouth felt incredibly dry, but the idea of swallowing anything, even a drop of water, made him want to puke. He poured a glass anyway just in case he needed it later and stared at his warped reflection in the glass. He'd worn a suit today, deciding that it was probably in his best interest to look like he gave as many shits as he could possibly give, and he adjusted his tie slightly before doing his best to settle into the seat.  
  
“I'll be recording this meeting for future reference,” the president said, nodding to one of the other committee members who clicked a button on a video camera set up on a tripod behind her.  
  
“I suppose introductions are in order,” Deanna said.  
  
“Jessie Anderson. Office of student affairs.”

That time Rick almost did laugh.

“Father Gabriel Stokes. Dean of Religion.”  
  
I'm so fucking screwed.

Everyone looked at him like they were waiting for a confession or something, and Rick did his best not to squirm like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.  
  
“Are you going to introduce yourself?” Deanna asked after a while, her lips pulled tight in a condescending smile.  
  
Right. Shit.  
  
“Rick Grimes. Assistant professor of history.”

“Excellent,” she said. “Now we can begin.”

Rick could have sworn he heard the words, ' _your execution'_ hanging on at the end of her sentence.

“Before we start, do you have anything you'd like us to know?” Deanna asked, looking down at the papers in front of her like they contained some long list of his misdeeds.  
  
Rick thought about it. He had plenty of excuses for what he'd done. Have you seen him? Have you seen the way his hair shines when the sun hits it just right? Have you seen the speckles in his blue eyes that you can only make out when he lets you get close to him? Have you seen him cuddle a fucking stuffed duck? Have you seen him hurt and bleeding and felt like your entire heart was going to rip out of your fucking chest? Have you seen him look at you like he can't even believe you're still there?

“I love him,” Rick said simply. It was the truth. He loved him, and he'd known it was going to happen from nearly the beginning. “I knew it was wrong to start something with him while he was still in my class. I tried. I really did try so hard. But it's too late now obviously.”

“I'm sorry?” Jessie asked. She looked back down at her own papers, her brows knitting together.

“I love him,” Rick said again. How was that fucking hard to understand? Why were they all looking at him like he'd told them the moon was made of horse shit and the oceans were filled with grape soda?

“Professor Grimes,” Deanna said calmly, “why exactly do you think you're here?”

“Because I-” Rick faltered. And he realized with the most severe and gut-punching feeling of foot-in-mouth syndrome ever that this meeting had never been about Daryl, and that he'd just fucked everything up all on his own.

“Why am I here?” he asked.

“Dr. Langley has been taking unauthorized vacations using departmental funds. We've been talking to everyone to see if they know anything about it. He has tenure, so there's a process to go through before we can let him go.”

Rick wanted to crawl out of his fucking skin and die. He chugged the whole glass of water, praying that Jesus would pull out one more miracle for him because he needed that shit to become wine pronto.

“I did not,” Rick said. Please just let me go. Please don't ask. Please just let it go.

“But now I'd very much like to discuss what you just told us,” she said.  
  
Rick put his head down on the table, because what the fuck did it matter anymore?  
  
“Am I to understand you've been seeing a student?”

Was it too late to plead the fifth? Did he get a phone call? Could he go ahead and request his last meal of brownies and double chocolate fudge ice cream with another brownie on top?

Where was Shane with a fucking whole box of them when he needed him? Unconsciously, he reached in his pocket to touch his phone, and his fingertips hit something else, a little piece of crumpled paper. He figured it was probably some old dry-cleaning receipt, but he pulled it out anyway. Anything but facing the music.  
  
He found a torn piece of notebook paper and Daryl's untidy scrawl.

_Remember what you promised this morning._

And just like that, Rick felt like he could breathe again.

“Like I said, I tried,” Rick said, sitting up straighter.

“Start from the beginning,” she said. And so Rick did, telling her about the awkward boy with the panic attacks who had stolen his heart and soul, giving her a brief rundown of their entire relationship from that first day in class to Roanoke island to the hospital to Daryl's homemade chili the night before.

“What a beautiful story,” she said. “It makes me want to leave work early to go spend time with my husband.”

“Thanks,” Rick said, folding Daryl's note up in his palm and thumbing it like a worry stone.

“Unfortunately, my hands are tied,” she said. Rick closed his eyes and swallowed, holding his breath while he waited for her to say her next words. It would be okay. He could find another job.

“That sort of offense requires your dismissal and the expulsion of Mr. Dixon, both effective immediately.”

“No,” Rick gasped out.

“I'm sorry to see you go since you clearly care deeply about this university and your j-”

“Screw my job,” Rick said. “You can't do that to him.”

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I don't have a choice.”

“No,” Rick said. “He's worked too hard.”

“I'm sorry,” she said again, and it took every ounce of control in Rick's body to keep his rage contained. He wanted to throw his water glass at her fucking face.  
  
Oh God, and this was his fault. If he'd kept his fucking mouth shut. If he'd realized it wasn't just his own future in jeopardy this whole time.

“Don't they get a say?” Rick asked, looking at the other two committee members. He had a feeling the priest wouldn't help him, but he gave Jessie the most pleading look he could manage. She had a wedding ring on. Surely she knew what it felt like to be in love so deep that you felt like you were drowning in bliss.  
  
“That's not the sort of thing that would require a hearing,” Deanna said. “I can't force you, but it would be helpful for the professor who will finish out your class if you left some notes with your department head this afternoon before turning in your staff ID and your office keys.”

Rick forced himself to nod.

“Will that be all?” he asked, already standing up.

“Again, I'm sorry.”

Another forced nod, and he left the conference room.

* * *

Rick didn't have panic attacks, but right now he had a feeling that this was as close as he was ever going to get to understanding how Daryl felt in those moments. He managed to make it to the nearest men's room, and then he locked himself in a stall and fucking lost it, slamming his palm into the wall and fighting back hot tears.

All that fucking work Daryl had put in this semester, and now this.  
  
My fault. My fucking fault.

He had to pull it together. He had to _do_ something, but fucking what?

He paced all two feet of space the stall had with his face in his hands. How could he fix this? How could he save the future that boy had put fucking everything into? Fuck his fucking job. How could he make this right for Daryl?

Another set of footsteps came into the bathroom, and Rick very nearly growled at them to get the hell out, but instead he stayed quiet, waiting for them to leave so he could resume his fucking breakdown.  
  
“Yeah, coach said he'd talk to them about it, mom. See if I can do some extra credit or something.”

Typical. Rick had gotten plenty of coach talks, plenty of strong suggestions from department heads too that he give the star running back a little break. Hell, even Shane had tried to-  
  
Shane.

The gears all clicked into place at once and Rick bolted out of the bathroom, practically knocking over the boy before half-sprinting across campus without a fucking care.

“Rick?” Tara asked when he shot past her and Alicia making out on the steps of the library, but he didn't fucking have time.

He skidded into Shane's office a couple minutes later with a very flustered secretary on his heels. She'd tried to stop him, claimed Shane was in a very important meeting and wasn't to be bothered.  
  
Bullshit. If Shane was in a very important meeting, then he definitely wanted to be bothered. So if Shane didn't want to be bothered, that could only mean one thing.  
  
Sure enough, a pretty blonde jumped and pulled away from Shane the minute Rick burst through the door.  
  
“What the hell?” she asked.

“Rick,” Shane said, giving him a grin. “Still got a job?”

“No,” Rick said, leaning on Shane's desk to catch his breath.

“Shit, man,” he said, his smile immediately falling. “I'm so sorry.”

 “I don't fucking care,” Rick said. “Not here for me.”

 “What?”

“You have to help me. We have to save Daryl.”

“Save him from what?”

“They're going to expel him, Shane. I thought if anyone had the pull to stop it...”

“Oh like fuckin hell they are,” Shane said, already picking up the phone. “I fuckin need that kid.”

“I didn't even think about him. I'm such a fucking idiot for not even considering... If he gets kicked out, it'll be on me.” Rick managed to sit down in one of Shane's office chairs for all of two seconds before he got up again, unable to sit still. “Fuck, Shane, the damn hearing wasn't even about him and I started blabbering about how I loved him and, Christ, I fucked up _everything_.”  
  
Shane put his hand up to quiet Rick before talking to the person on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, mhm, well this is the AD. You have her call me soon as she gets back in then,” Shane said, and then he hung up the phone, his jaw clenching.

“What's going on?” the blonde asked. Rick looked her over and then nodded at Shane and let him fill her in. Apparently she already knew all about him and Daryl, because he only told her about the hearing.

“I can look through the by-laws and see if I can help,” she said. “Maybe there's some kind of loophole.”  
  
“Just how long have you been seeing this woman?” Rick asked, looking at her. She wore a very smart and very tailored pantsuit, which meant she was likely far from Shane's usual fare.

“Andrea Harrison,” she said, holding out her hand. “I teach environmental law. Sometimes civil rights law as well. I've heard a lot about you.”

Andrea Harrison. Rick knew that name, but it took his brain ages to search through it. And then he looked at Shane in shock. Shane was a use 'em and lose 'em sort of guy, and he'd mentioned her name ages ago. Hell, that was before he and Daryl had even gotten together.

“Have you been with her this whole time?” Rick asked. And after the bastard had told him he'd been too busy lately for a love life.

“Maybe,” Shane shrugged.

“Can't believe you didn't tell me,” Rick said.

“I was embarrassed,” Shane said. “Hard to tell your best friend that someone finally managed to tame him.”

Rick opened his mouth, but then Shane's phone rang and they all fell quiet, the only sound coming from him violently snatching it off the holder.

“Yes ma'am, I sure did,” Shane said. “Thing is, you can't kick that Dixon boy out. I need him.”

There was a long pause, Rick watching Shane's face for signs of how it was going. The tighter his best friend's jaw got, the more sick he felt.

“I understand that. Hell, make him retake the class and put him on probation if you've got to, but if you want your precious fucking archery team to do anything worth doin, you better let that boy stay.”

More silence that seemed to drag on for an eternity, and then Shane slammed the phone down.

“Fucking bitch.”

Rick sank down into the chair and buried his face back in his hands. Daryl would never forgive him for this and for good reason. Fuck.

“Why you mopin?” Shane asked. “I said she was a bitch. Didn't say he wasn't stayin.”

Rick looked up.

“What?”

“He'll have to retake history. No refund on the tuition, but it won't fuck up his GPA. And he'll be on probation which means he can't step out of line at all in the spring or he's gone. She also made it clear that the archery team better blow her mind, or I'm out of here right along with you. But your boy's good.”

Rick was probably the most relieved anyone had ever been after getting fired from a job they adored. He wanted to leap over the desk and hug Shane until he broke one of his ribs.

“Thank you,” Rick said. “Shane, I can never repay this ever.”

“The hell makes you think I did it for you?” Shane asked. “You have not seen that fucker shoot a bow.”

“Don't care if you admit it or not. Thank you.”

“So do you need wine or chocolate?” Shane asked.

“Daryl,” Rick said, reaching back in his pocket and finding the little note. “I just need Daryl.”

“Can't help you there, brother,” Shane said. “But at least you can go find him and kiss the shit out of him wherever he is. Don't really matter now.”

He had a point there. One quick phone call and a short jog later, and Rick stepped into the dining hall. He could hear Maggie laughing hysterically even from where he stood, and he followed the sound. There was Daryl, sitting at the end of the table with his leg up on a chair, the back of his sandy blonde hair shaking with laughter.

“So there's Beth, elbow-deep in manure and... Rick.”

“What?” Daryl asked. His head snapped around, and Rick wasn't sure he'd ever been happier to see that face. He grabbed his cheeks and kissed him there in front of Maggie and Glenn and everyone.  
  
“What are you doing?” Daryl asked, looking around furtively.

“I got fired,” Rick said with a smile, and Daryl's face fell. “No, it's okay.”

“How's that okay?” Daryl asked.

“Because I can do this.” Rick kissed Daryl again and slid into the empty chair next to him, right across from Glenn.

“So who's Beth?” Rick asked. “Something about manure?”  
  
Maggie stared at him for a moment, clearly taken aback.

“Right. Well, I went home for the weekend to help out on one of the new farms daddy started up. Me and Glenn got to watch my little sister fall face-first into a pile of cow poop.”

Rick smiled, imagining a smaller version of Maggie with her face covered in goo.

“What are we gonna do?” Daryl asked, and Rick looked over to find him chewing on his thumb, bouncing in his seat. Rick fingered through his hair and pulled out the note Daryl had slipped into his pocket sometime this morning, setting it down in front of him.

“We're gonna be together,” Rick said, and now that it was all said and done he felt pretty okay, though he did reach over and steal Daryl's brownie anyway. “We'll be alright for a while. I've got time to look.”

“Okay,” Daryl said. But he didn't sound certain. “Rick, I-”

“This isn't your fault,” Rick said firmly before Daryl could get out the apology. “I made my own bed, but I'd appreciate it if you'd lie in it with me.”

Daryl nodded.

“You know I will.”

“Then we'll be just fine,” Rick said, cradling Daryl's cheek and rubbing his jawline with his thumb. “I can do anything as long as I'm doing it with you.”

“Can you guys stop?” Glenn said. “You're making me look bad.”

“Glenn,” Maggie hissed, slapping his thigh. “I was watching that.”

“Sorry,” Glenn said. “But I'm never gonna be that good.”

“You don't have to be,” Maggie said. “I know how you feel.”

Rick watched her lean over and kiss him. When she pulled away, she smiled at him and then the two of them.

“You're gonna be okay,” she said, her eyes on Daryl's. “We all are.”

And even though Rick knew he was about to have to go clean what had once felt like his entire life out his office, he believed her.


	33. Slipped My Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *collapses onto the floor in front of you* 
> 
> My babies. My precious people. My delicious Olive Garden breadsticks. My banana nut muffins. My little gummy bears. 
> 
> I'm back. BACK back. Like finally done with all my stupid obligations that keep me from being able to write back. 
> 
> *exhales deeply* 
> 
> Let's do this.

It didn't hit Rick until the following morning that maybe he wasn't as okay as he had thought he was. His alarm went off at its usual time, and when he turned it off and fell back onto the pillow, it hit him that it meant nothing. Instead of getting up and putting strawberry wax in his hair and sliding on a tweed jacket, all Rick had to do was, well, not a damn thing.  
  
Sure, Daryl had to get to his afternoon class (history was canceled until they figured out who would be best to fill in), and he couldn't ride his motorcycle for at least a few more weeks so that meant he'd need a ride. But otherwise, Rick had nothing. Indefinitely.  
  
“Morning,” Daryl mumbled, letting his head loll to the side so he could look at him. Rick looked back, trying his hardest to let those blue eyes anchor him. Daryl closed them, rubbing out the sleep, pawing at his face like a kitten.  
  
“Morning,” Rick said, forcing the word out because he couldn't remember a time when he felt less like talking.  
  
Almost like he could sense it, Daryl reached over and slid his fingers through Rick's hair, stroking it and scratching lightly at his scalp.

“Want me to make you brownies for breakfast?” Daryl asked. “Extra fudgy ones with more fudge on top?”

Rick wanted to be grateful, and he wanted to say yes, but even brownies didn't seem as appealing as staying in bed and staring at his ceiling until the end of time. He shook his head. 

“It's okay, you know? To be sad about it, I mean,” Daryl said. “Was important to you.”

“Thought I was okay.” And he had, he really had. He'd avoided getting Daryl kicked out and that had seemed like such a victory, but then the dust settled and his job was still gone and the thing he'd loved and worked so hard for was in ashes at his feet. But he felt so selfish and stupid for even being upset about it. After all, it's not like he wanted to give up the boy next to him, and if he really thought about it, he should have always known there was no way he could have both. Even if he hadn't screwed up in the hearing, it probably would've gone this way eventually. 

And how many times had he told himself it would be fine as long as he had Daryl? And yet now here he was and it wasn't fine at all. Fucking idiot.

“You don't have to be,” Daryl said.

Rick made a noise instead of saying anything else, because he still didn't want to talk. And what did he have to say about it anyway really?

“Got a while 'fore I have to be anywhere,” Daryl said. “C'mere.”

Daryl patted the center of his chest, and Rick shifted and laid his head there, letting the younger man hold him and resume fingering through his waves. 

“I'm sorry,” Daryl said.

“So am I,” Rick said, and the two of them fell quiet.

* * *

The rest of the week blurred together for Rick. He spent most of it on the couch watching documentaries on Netflix, getting peanut butter cup brownie crumbs everywhere. The only break in his days came from trips back and forth to campus to pick up Daryl.

On Friday he woke up from the middle of a nap to his front door slamming shut. He sat up.

“Hello?” he said. But he could hear Daryl's crutches clicking their way towards the living room, and he relaxed. “How did you-” 

“Aaron drove me,” Daryl said, stopping in the doorway.  
  
“Don't you have class?” Rick asked, looking at the clock. It was barely after noon.  
  
“We finally got a new history professor,” Daryl said. There was an edge to his voice though, something Rick hadn't heard yet. He rubbed his eyes.  
  
“Oh?”

“Or should I say everyone else finally got a new history professor?” Daryl's hands tightened on the grips of his crutches, squeezing around them.

“What?” Rick processed the question, rubbing his face to try and wake up. Was Daryl angry? Rick was confused. Why would he be-

Oh shit.  
  
“Did you know?” Daryl asked, breathing a little too evenly.  
  
Rick hadn't told him. He hadn't even thought about it yet, really. They hadn't discussed the specifics of the meeting. No opportunity for Rick's over-full brain to think about it. And would he have even wanted to tell him that he'd almost lost them both everything all because he was an idiot?

Rick looked down at the carpet. 

“Glenn gave me these,” Daryl said, moving forward and pulling two envelopes out of his pocket, tossing them into Rick's lap. “Good thing I read 'em out of order.”

Daryl sat down on the recliner instead of joining him on the couch, and Rick picked up the one on top. Both came from the Office of the President. 

_  
Mr. Dixon,_

_I regret to inform you that due to a violation of several university by-laws, you are no longer a student at Alexandria University. Obviously, student and professor relationships extending beyond the classroom are a risk to the academic integrity of our institution. The university unfortunately cannot tolerate such risks._

_If you believe you have received this letter in error, please contact the Dean of Student Affairs within the next 14 days for an appeal._

_I wish you and Mr. Grimes all the best._

_Sincerely,_  
  
_Deanna Monroe_  
_President_

  
Rick checked the date. She must have written it directly after the hearing. Christ, that woman was fast. He opened the next one.  _  
_

_  
Mr. Dixon,_

_Please disregard my last letter. Upon further review of your record, we have decided to let you continue your education._

_Please note that you will have to re-take History 101 prior to graduation. You will also be placed on Academic Probation until your completion of the spring semester._

_Sincerely,_

_Deanna Monroe_  
_President_  
  
  
Rick set both letters down on the coffee table and turned to Daryl. He sat in the recliner, chewing his nails down to the quick, trembling just enough that Rick could see the wispy tips of his hair shaking.  
  
“I'm sorry.”

“Did you know?” Daryl asked again. “About me getting expelled and not expelled or whatever the hell all that means.”

“Yes, I knew.” Rick re-situated on the couch, putting his back against the arm and drawing his legs up so he could look at Daryl and brace for whatever his reaction might be.

The younger man fell quiet, chewing on his lip and staring at the wall. Rick had never watched him get angry, but it seemed to catch like a fire. Slow to start, but quick once it did. 

“And were you maybe gonna.. gonna... fuck!” Daryl pressed his palm into his forehead and smacked it a couple of times before exhaling violently through his nose. “Were you gonna tell me? What the hell even happened anyway?”

“She fired me and expelled you, so I went to Shane and told him because I didn't know who else could help.”

“Mhm.” 

“He convinced her to let you stay. She was a student here back in the day. Big on the archery team. Her grandpa was too.”

Daryl went quiet again, and each second was agony. It felt like Rick was waiting for a bomb to finish counting down.  
  
“I'm sorry.”  
  
“Ain't answered my other question. Were you gonna say anything?” Daryl asked.

“I think so.”

“You think so?” Daryl asked, raising his eyebrow. “You _think_ you were gonna tell me I'm on probation and have to retake a class I busted my ass in? You _think_?”

“Daryl-”

“Screw you, Rick.”

“You don't mean that.”

“How the hell would you know?” Daryl asked.

“How the hell wouldn't I?” Rick sat up a little straighter. “I know you.”

“Then you should've known I'd rather hear it from you than some damn letter.”

Rick flinched.

“I didn't think about it. I should have.”

“Probably,” Daryl said, pushing himself up on the arms of the chair and grabbing his crutches. 

“Where are you going?”

“I don't know,” Daryl said, and then he left the room. He heard the front door slam again and scrambled to his feet to chase after him. But a glance through the front window told him Daryl had only gone as far as the porch swing.

Rick decided maybe it would be better to try and talk after he cooled down and left him alone. 

* * *

Daryl sat down in the wooden swing and leaned his crutches against the railing of the porch.  
  
He thought about calling Aaron and telling him to turn around and come back to get him, but he decided here was far enough away from Rick as anything else. He pulled his good leg up and rested his chin on his knee.  
  
How could Rick know that all that had happened and not tell him? How could that have not been one of the first things out of his damn mouth after the hearing?

I almost lost everything and I didn't even fucking know it. 

And God, he hadn't been joking about busting his ass either. Sure, some of it had been to impress Rick, but he'd worked so fucking hard and for nothing. Bullshit. This was bullshit.  
  
He laid down on the porch swing, propping his right leg up on the arm and laying his head on his bicep. 

God, he wanted to fucking break something. But short of throwing one of his crutches through the window, there wasn't really anything to destroy. And some voice in the back of his head told him that maybe damaging his own house would be a bit of an overreaction even if it would be a pretty fucking satisfying one.  
  
Instead, he curled his forearm up over his left ear and let the world go quiet.

* * *

It was probably a good thirty minutes before Daryl watched Rick come out of the house, a blanket and two steaming mugs in his hand. 

He glared at him, but it was halfhearted now. He was still mad, could probably get full-on angry all over again if he thought too hard, but what was done was done and throwing a fit wasn't going to change it.

“It's chilly today,” Rick said, holding up the blanket. He was right too. It was definitely fall. Their yard was covered in leaves, stores were full of pumpkins, and Daryl's skin was ice, even if he'd been trying to ignore it. He sat up and let Rick join him on the swing, draping the blanket around both of them.

“I'm sorry,” Rick said, offering him a cup of hot chocolate. Daryl took a sip and licked marshmallow fluff off his lips.

“Mhm.”

“I was just so caught up in losing my job and being relieved that Shane managed to keep the other thing from happening, it slipped my mind to even think about saying anything.”

Daryl swallowed down the little swell of rage that told him it was sort of fucked up that something like that just “slipped” Rick's mind. 

“It shouldn't have though.” He reached over and adjusted the blanket so that it properly covered Daryl's shoulder. Daryl met his eyes, finding them blue and pitiful with remorse. Damn't.  
  
“Thanks for the cocoa.”  
  
“That your way of saying you forgive me?” Rick nudged him a little, and Daryl felt an overwhelming urge to touch the light scruff that had accumulated on his chin since Tuesday. Instead, he curled his fingers around his warm mug.  
  
“My way of sayin I will eventually.”

“That's enough for me,” Rick said, and he leaned forward a few inches. “May I?”

Daryl nodded, and let him give him a short little peck of a kiss.

“You wanna stay out here for a while or do you wanna come inside?” Rick tongued a bit of sweet stickiness off the corner of his mouth. 

“Here's good,” Daryl said, leaning over onto Rick's shoulder and letting the older man snake an arm around him. He glanced up at him, still sipping his hot chocolate, his thumb rubbing Daryl's side in small circles.  
  
“You look sexier like this,” Daryl said. “Not that you aren't sexy all the other ways.”

“Like what?” 

“This,” Daryl said, reaching up to touch the rough patch on Rick's chin.  
  
“Want me to grow it out?” Rick asked.  
  
“It's your face.” Daryl shrugged.

“I only shaved it for work,” Rick said. “You're giving me an excuse to be lazy.”

“Because you need one,” Daryl said, looking him over and giving him a sniff. “Have you even showered?”

“What are you thinkin?” Rick asked, completely ignoring his question. “Another inch or so? Full-on grizzly?”

“You smell like feet.”

“Finish your cocoa,” Rick said. Daryl rolled his eyes but slurped down the rest of the cup now that it had cooled just enough to gulp. 

“You shower and I'll join you,” he suggested.  
  
Rick raised his eyebrow.  
  
“That right?”

“Yeah,” Daryl said. “Ain't been in a real relationship before, but isn't make-up sex a thing?”

Rick laughed and considered it, quirking up one eyebrow.

“Guess it is.”

“Then why are you still sittin there, old man?” Daryl asked, standing up and grabbing his crutches. He winked at Rick and headed inside. 

* * *

Rick followed him inside after knocking back the rest of his cocoa, depositing their mugs on the coffee table on the way to the bathroom.

How the hell were they gonna do this?

“Uh, Daryl...” Rick said, but the younger man had already leaned against the bathroom counter so he could unbutton his flannel shirt.

“Got a plan,” Daryl said. “Or do you wanna just... I know I'm not exactly sex on a stick right now.”

Rick stepped forward and touched his lover's exposed chest, working his hands over and down the younger man's sides. 

“Just sex on crutches.”

“Pfft. Asshole.” Daryl laughed. “Hey, we're gonna need a chair.” 

Rick nodded and left, coming back with a plastic chair, a condom, and the special bottle of lube he reserved for the wet and wild stuff.  
  
When he walked back in, banging the chair on the door frame, he found the younger man sitting on the toilet lid, naked with a towel draped across his lap. He had a plastic bag wrapped around his injured leg all the way up to his thigh, and he was in the process of taping it off.   
  
“I know. I know. This is so sexy right now," Daryl said.   
  
Rick looked at the way Daryl's collarbones protruded when he moved just right, at the way his ears stuck out of his hair, and the definition of those arms—even worse now after weeks on crutches. Yeah like anything could ever make him unsexy.   
  
The former professor glanced down at the tent in his sweats.  
  
“Still working for me.”

“Lemme see,” Daryl said, ripping the tape and tossing the roll up on the counter. Rick thumbed the band of his pants. 

“You wanna see my cock? This one? The one in my pants right here?”

“Don't be a fucking tease, Rick. Probably smells anyway.”

Little shit. 

But the older man worked his pants and underwear down, stepping out of them and leaving them on the rug in front of the sink. Daryl's eyes fell to his erection, and then he nodded.  
  
“Yep.”

“Yep?” Rick asked, trying to hold back a chuckle. “That's your response to my dick? Yep?”

“Yep.” Daryl spit in his hand and reached for it, so Rick took a step forward, sighing when the younger man wrapped his fingers around it and gave it a stroke. 

“If you weren't gross, this coulda been my mouth,” Daryl said, looking up at him while he worked him over from base to tip.

“There's a shower two feet away.” 

“What? This ain't enough?” Daryl asked, biting his lip and giving the tip of Rick's cock a palm-over that almost made his knees buckle.  
  
“You think you're funny today.”

“Go ahead,” Daryl said, rubbing more vigorously and smirking up at him.“Turn on the shower.”

“I can do this too, Daryl,” Rick said, putting a hand on the counter for support. “I'm more than happy to- _fuck_ -cum like this. But you'll miss out on a nice hard dick, pounding into your ass, hitting you right where you like it until you- _shit!_ ”

“Told you to turn the shower on, Rick. It ain't that hard.”

“I'm a bit distracted.”

“Alright,” Daryl said, and he finally relinquished his hold on his lover's erection. “Put the chair in there.” 

Rick got the shower the perfect temperature and did as Daryl instructed, stripping off his shirt and hooking one arm under Daryl's armpit to help him hop over and sit down under the running water. He shook it out of his eyes and hair like a puppy dog.  
  
“So what exactly is the plan here?” Rick asked.

“You wash yourself because you smell like a skunk's ass.”

“I don't think it's _that_ bad.” Rick lifted up his arm and smelled. Okay, maybe it was a little bad.

“Wash your dick at least.”

Alright. Daryl wanted to play. He would play. 

He soaped up a wash cloth and positioned himself directly in front of the younger man before running a line of suds all the way down the center of his torso, feeling the bubbles run off around his erection. Daryl licked his lips and swallowed.  
  
“This was a good idea,” Rick said. “Showering, I mean.” He wrapped the soapy cloth around his cock and rolled his hips into it, slowly fucking into the soft wetness of it, leaning his head back and groaning a lot louder than was necessary.  
  
“Mhm,” Daryl said, watching the movement of the wash rag as Rick dipped it down and swirled it around his balls.  
  
“Nice and clean,” Rick said, letting the shower water rinse away the suds .  
  
“Good,” Daryl said. And then he grabbed Rick's hips and jerked him forward so hard that he almost fell on top of him, catching himself on the shower wall just in time to prevent the most embarrassing 911 call he'd probably ever make.  
  
“Dar-fuck !” Rick groaned loud and low as Daryl took him all the way into his mouth in one seemingly effortless move.  
  
“Mmm."   
  
“Warn me, Daryl, Jesus.”

The younger man pulled off, stroking him.  
  
“That's not fun though.” Daryl smiled up at him, blinking shower water out of his baby blues.  
  
“Come here,” Rick said, and he grabbed Daryl by the hair and forced his face back onto his cock, bucking into the heat of his mouth until Daryl pushed him away by the hips, gasping for air.   
  
“Jesus, Rick.” Daryl said.  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
But when he met Daryl's eyes, he found them more hungry than angry, staring up at him with heated need, his chest heaving.  
  
Oh, hell yeah.   
  
Daryl put his left leg up on the shower ledge and scooted forward in the chair, and by the time he reached the edge and held out his hand, Rick already had the lube ready for him, squeezing it onto his fingers.  
  
The younger man dipped his hand between his thighs, sliding a finger into himself with a heavy sigh.  
  
“Rick,” he moaned, slowly working it in and out of himself before adding another.  
  
“Hurry,” Rick said. Because damn it, why did this one single thing always turn him on more than anything else in the world? Not even licking chocolate off of Daryl's nipple had done it quite as much as watching him finger his own ass always did.  
  
“Why?” Daryl asked. “Want to fuck my ass, Rick? Wish you were in there instead?”

“Always.”

“Nice and tight for you too.”

“Daryl...”

“Help me up,” he said, holding out his hand, and so Rick grabbed it and helped him stand on one foot, his back leaning against the wall. 

“Is this the plan?” Rick asked, sitting down. Daryl nodded.  
  
Rick struggled to tear open the condom with his wet hands, accidentally flinging it into the curtain and letting out a stream of swear words, but he eventually managed to get it on and lubed up.  
  
There was an awkward minute of Daryl balancing on one leg and trying to ease down while Rick held his own cock in place and pretended it wasn't uncomfortable for his lover to be putting that much of his weight on his his shoulders. But eventually the younger man managed to slide onto him, sitting in his lap with his own erection pressed against Rick's abs.  
  
“Well this was a dumb idea,” Daryl said, rocking gently.

“Doesn't feel dumb,” Rick said, grabbing his hips and helping him move. Daryl pushed up on his left leg the best he could, and truth be told, even though it was awkward as fuck, it didn't matter. It was warm and tight and Daryl, and that was always enough. 

Probably didn't hurt that he'd already had a hand job and a blow job either. Hell, another minute in Daryl's mouth and he would've been gone.  
  
Rick reached down between them and placed his hand on Daryl's cock, touching it so that with every movement it rubbed between his palm and his stomach.  
  
More rocking and Daryl trying his best to slide up and down his length. Rick pressed harder on his erection, adding pressure until Daryl was whimpering and shaking in his arms.  
  
“See,” Rick said. “Not dumb at all.”  
  
“Fuck, Rick.” He bit his lip. “You close?”

“Been close,” Rick said. “Kiss me.”

Daryl did, a lazy thing that was more open-mouthed gaping than an actual kiss. Rick wrapped his hand fully around him and gave him a few strokes, and that was enough. He barely felt Daryl's cum spurting across his chest with the spray of the shower, but it was there, white and running down his skin. 

“Your turn,” Daryl said, leaning back and grabbing his shoulders so he could rock a little more vigorously. He nearly fell onto the floor and took Rick with him, but he managed to hold on long enough for Rick to finish up, spilling into the depths of the man he loved while water dripped from his hair and down his face.   
  
“I love you,” Rick said, holding Daryl tight and catching his breath against his shoulder.   
  
“Love you too, Rick Grimes.”  
  
There was another awkward minute for the dismount and post-sex musical chair, and then Daryl was safely back in the seat while Rick finished up his shower. 

“Do I smell better?” Rick asked after, sliding into a new pair of sweats and a tee shirt while Daryl dressed on the end of the bed.

“Don't know. You're all the way over there.” 

Rick smiled and slid down next to him on the mattress, helping him work his own (stolen) sweats over his leg brace, stealing a kiss or two along the way. Daryl gave him a sniff, nuzzling into his neck.  
  
“Smell like you,” Daryl said, laying a kiss on the skin behind his ear. 

“I don't know if that's better or not?” 

“I like you," he said, and Rick smiled. 

“C'mon, sweetheart.” Rick handed him his crutches and waited patiently for Daryl to follow him into the living room. 

The two of them spent the rest of the day snuggled up on the couch, alternating between _The Untold History of the United States_ and _My Classic Car_ until Daryl dozed off on his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. I got a tumblr so you can find me [here](http://www.daryldixongrimes.tumblr.com) and send me prompts and talk to me and be my friend.


	34. Punching Bag

On Sunday, Rick and Daryl spent all day working on cleaning up the yard. This meant that mostly Rick spent all day cleaning up the yard, but Daryl refused to “just sit around” and crutched around the grass in front of the porch raking up leaves the best he could.

“Doing a great job, sweetheart,” Rick said, giving him a pat on the butt and a kiss on the temple. Daryl shook his head, probably because he'd really only managed to get about ten square feet of grass clean all day, but whatever. That he'd managed to do it at all was a feat in itself, and Rick was just happy that they were doing something like this together.

“Reckon we got company,” Daryl said, jerking his head toward the driveway where a Jeep had just rolled up. 

“Shane,” Rick said, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve and leaning his rake against the porch railing. His best friend got out and walked up to both of them with a rolled-up newspaper in his hand. He looked around at the yard and the little piles of leaves.   
  
“Well ain't this domestic?”

“It was more leaf than yard,” Rick said. “Had to be done.”

“Mhm.”

“Why are you here, Shane?” Rick asked. 

“What?” Shane fidgeted. “Can't a guy come see his best friend without a reason?”

But he sighed and unrolled the newspaper. 

“Thing is I thought you'd rather hear it from me than discover it on your own.” Shane handed it over to Rick.

 

**Alexandria University Professor Grimes Fired For Misconduct**

_**Relationship With Student 'Inappropriate' Says President** _

 

There was a picture of Rick that had been taken for his ID and his staff profile page stuck right into the center of the front-page article.  
  
His stomach churned, sinking slowly, like an animal struggling for life in some viscous tar pit. Great. Like he wasn't going to have a hard enough time finding a job without his picture shoved right into an article calling him out for fucking a student like some creep. No one would ever know he wasn't some asshole who hadn't coerced Daryl into doing it for the grade. No one would ever even fucking ask.

“At least they left Daryl's name out,” Shane said. God, it must be bad if he was trying to use Daryl to distract him.  
  
He scanned the article, each paragraph making him feel more and more like he was going to vomit all over his front yard.

“ _No details on the nature of this arrangement have_ _yet_ _been made available.”_

Arrangement. _Arrangement?_ Jesus Christ.   
  
“ _...draws parallels to a case last year in New Hampshire where a male professor was fired for having sexual relations with multiple male students.”_

No. This wasn't like that at fucking all. There were no fucking parallels. It was just Daryl. JUST Daryl. Just... Rick looked up at him and found him watching him read, his brows knitted together in concern. Blue eyes met his, worried and questioning. Rick looked away. 

“ _Grimes was the adviser for the college GSA. Sources say he may have used this connection to get closer with the student in question.”_

Great. The only semi-true thing in the article and it made him sound like a fucking stalker. 

He sank down onto the nearby porch steps and forced himself to read the rest. There were details on Rick's history at the college, including a note that he'd been arrested in the past (they conveniently left out why and that he'd never been convicted), a nice statement about how it was “currently unknown” whether or not he'd ever been with any other students, about how he couldn't be reached for comment (like anyone had tried).  
  
At the very end, there was a tiny paragraph about “the student” that mentioned he was on academic probation until the end of the spring semester. And that was it.  
  
Rick covered his face with the newspaper and bit his tongue. He could feel his palms sweating and his heart pounding and in that moment all he wanted to do was scream.  
  
“Is it that bad?” he heard Daryl whisper to Shane.  
  
He didn't hear Shane's reply if there was one. Rick counted backwards from ten in his head, and then slowly and carefully, he started to rip the newspaper into little tiny pieces.  
  
So much for working at McDonald's for the rest of his life if he had no other choice. No one was going to fucking hire him for shit in this town or any other one for that matter. He was one Google search away from "manipulative depraved slimeball with an arrest record."    
  
“Rick, are you okay?” Daryl asked. Rick continued tearing, ripping his own face in half. He heard a car door slam, but it only registered vaguely.  
  
“I knew you'd need these,” Shane said. Rick looked up and found a box of truffles, fucking expensive ones from Rick's favorite chocolate shop. But even the thought of those made bile rise in his throat. This was beyond chocolate. This was beyond wine. He didn't even _know_ what he needed to fucking deal with this.

So instead he finished tearing the newspaper apart until there was a pile of shreds on the worn patch of dirt between his feet, not caring about the wind catching the little pieces and scattering them all over what had been an almost pristine yard again just a few minutes before.

“Rick, look at me,” Daryl said. He felt Daryl's fingers under his chin, gently lifting, and he pulled away. If he looked at Daryl, he'd fucking lose it... if he hadn't lost it already.

“What do you need?” Shane asked. 

“Why did you let me do this?” Why did you encourage me to go after him when we both knew what could and probably would happen?

“Rick, don't,” Shane warned. 

“Let you do what?” Daryl asked.  
  
“C'mon, Rick,” Shane said, hooking his arms underneath his armpits and forcing him up off the porch. “Let's go get you drunk.”

Rick tried to struggle free, but Shane was stronger than him, and he managed to drag him across the yard and force him into the Jeep, slamming the door shut. Rick reached for the handle to get right back out, but Shane must have hit the damn child safety lock. Bastard. 

“Shane,” Rick growled, trying to scramble over the gear shift to the other door.  
  
“Oh no you don't,” Shane said, shoving him back over before starting to get in.  
  
“Can you get inside alright?” Shane asked, glancing up at Daryl still standing next to the porch.  The younger man nodded once, looking a little dazed at the whole situation. And then Shane climbed the rest of the way in and peeled out of the driveway.  
  
“I don't want a damn drink, Shane,” Rick said. I want my life back. I want to be getting ready for this week's lectures and tests. I want to be working on my thesis on Roanoke. Of course, he'd been enrolled in the Ph.D. program at AU since it was free to professors, which meant that was fucking gone too.  
  
“I know what you want, Rick. You wanna have a go at someone because you're hurt and pissed off.”

“I've lost everything,” Rick said. “Fucking everything, Shane. Do you understand that? Why didn't you just tell me to fucking stay away from him?” 

“Would it have mattered if I had?” Shane asked. And no, it wouldn't have. Because Rick was a fucking idiot.  
  
“Fuck!” He slammed his hand against the dash repeatedly, bashing it into the hard plastic until it sent pain shooting up his arm like angry fireworks. His palm throbbed.

“And you haven't lost everything, but if I'd let you keep talking to me like that in front of him, you damn well might have.”

The words hit Rick right in the chest, so hard he could have sworn he felt the air leave his lungs. 

“Shit.”  
  
Shane didn't respond. Instead he just kept driving, letting Rick fume in his seat until he reached their destination. When the car rolled to a stop, Rick looked up at the sign on the business. In giant no-frills black paint, it read “Abe's Gym.”  
  
“What are we doing here?” Rick asked, already angrily pulling at the door handle even though he knew it was useless. He beat against the door, pissed at it for not just doing what he wanted. Why couldn't he catch a fucking break?   
  
“You're not going back there until you've calmed down. You don't want to drink. So we're handling it this way.” Shane got out and came around to let him out.  
  
There was a split second where Rick contemplated taking off running down the street. But then what? The buses didn't go out by his place, and he'd just wind up calling Shane to come get him again since Daryl couldn't drive right now and there was no way he was going to call Lori. Reluctantly, he followed him inside.  
  
“Walsh,” a red-haired man sat up on a weight bench near the door when the bell tinkled overhead. He wiped at his face with a towel and took a swig from his water bottle. Rick wrinkled his nose. Was this guy drinking tequila at the gym?  
  
“Ford.” Shane nodded. And that was the extent of their exchange. The man didn't ask him for a membership card or ask who Rick was. He just laid back down on the bench and went back to lifting.  
  
Shane led Rick through the weight benches and machines, past a treadmill and an elliptical, to a tiny room in the back of the gym. Inside there was nothing but a quietly purring drinking fountain and a single black punching bag. Shane picked up a pair of worn boxing gloves from where they rested on the back of the fountain and thrust them against Rick's chest.  
  
“Shane,” Rick said, glaring at him.  
  
“If you want me to take you home, this is what it's gotta be, Rick.”

Sighing, Rick pulled the gloves on. Shane got behind the bag and positioned himself, placing his hands on it to hold it steady. With another deep sigh, Rick spread his feet and took on the best fighting stance he could. There was a brief moment when he considered missing and decking Shane square in the face, but instead he took a swing at the bag, wincing because apparently abusing his hand on the dash of a car and then punching something didn't suit his body too much. Not that it stopped him from doing it again. 

“There you go, brother,” Shane said. "Beat the hell out of it."   
  
"I just want to go back to the way things were." Rick said, taking a few swings.   
  
"And give him up?"   
  
"No." Rick took another swing. Not that. Never that.   
  
"You can't have both, man," Shane said. "You chose this."   
  
"But that's fucking bullshit. I didn't do anything wrong." More swings. "Why is everyone acting like we did something horrible?" Rick lashed out at the bag, the impact so strong that Shane jerked back.   
  
"Because life is bullshit. Always has been. If it wasn't, Daryl wouldn't have spent the past few weeks in a knee brace."   
  
And that just made Rick punch harder, landing blow after blow while Shane grit his teeth with the effort of keeping the bag still. Rick kept swinging until his arms ached, and then he swung some more, not stopping until he was practically wheezing, with sweat plastering his hair and shirt to his skin. He dropped down onto his knees, panting.   
  
“You good now?” Shane asked.  
  
“You mean besides losing my job and basically being made out to be some kind of sexual predator on the front page of the newspaper?” Rick asked.  
  
“Yeah, besides that,” Shane said.

“Could use that drink now,” Rick said. So Shane took him to the bar up the street and got him good and thoroughly shitfaced. He didn't even tease him for drinking the “girly shit.” 

“You know I'm behind you,” Shane said, when Rick was finally so sloshed that the waitress refused to bring him any more. He wrapped one of Rick's arms over his shoulders so he wouldn't stumble down the street and moved them both toward the Jeep still parked in front of the gym. 

“Don't usually like men behind me,” Rick slurred out. “But thanks.”

“We're going to figure this out,” Shane said. “I know you feel like it's all over, but we'll find you something.” 

“You still dating that lawyer?”

“Mhm.”

“Maybe we can shue...sue them.”

“The newspaper? There's an idea,” Shane said, opening up the Jeep door. Rick watched him undo the child lock before helping him crawl into the seat and fasten the seat belt. 

“Hey Shane,” Rick said, once the other man had gotten in and started backing out onto the street.  
  
“Yeah?”

“Thanks for not letting me hurt him.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Shane said. And then he drove him home.


	35. Irritation

It had been Daryl's idea to buy the duck calendar for their place. They'd been out at a discount store—one of those places where everything was a dollar or under—and he'd seen it. It was almost a waste, really, to buy a calendar for that year all the way in October, but he'd done it anyway and hung it up in the living room. And Rick couldn't deny his lover the little smile on his face that came from making a little part of the house more _theirs_. 

It was a good thing it was there too. Marking days off one by one under the picture of a baby duck in a witch hat was the only way Rick was really keeping up with time anymore.  
  
Mark, slash, mark.  
  
One week since everything fell apart.  
  
Mark, slash, mark.  
  
Two weeks. Three weeks that felt like twenty.  
  
He'd had zero job interviews in that time, not even so much as a nibble. Andrea had gone to bat for him with guns blazing, and the newspaper had printed half of a retraction and let him add his own statement, but that was about all they could do. Most of the facts were true even if they were put out there in the most shitty way humanly possible. And even if he did take them to court, it's not like he was going to get any life-altering monetary settlement out of the Alexandria County Herald.  
  
He probably would've given up on life entirely if Daryl wasn't Daryl. Even though Rick wanted nothing to more than to become permanently affixed to his couch, Daryl made him get up and shower and eat and drive them to the grocery store.  
  
Rick looked up at the sound of his crutches approaching, watching as the younger man maneuvered around the couch. He looked cute today—dressed in a pair of cargo pants and a hoodie. Like your typical picture of a student in some college catalog.   
  
“You gonna get up?” Daryl asked.  
  
“What's the point?”  
  
“You forgot.” Daryl frowned, and that look hurt Rick more than the cold numbness he'd settled into the past few weeks. Because Daryl was never angry with him when he forgot things these days, only pitying.  
  
Rick looked over at the calendar, hoping for some clue, but whatever it was, they hadn't written it down.  
  
“What did I forget?”  
  
“Doctor,” Daryl said, looking down at his leg. “Be nice if I can at least be given the clear to ride again so you don't have to cart me around. Although...” He shook his head, but Rick could fill in the blanks. _Although maybe you carting me around has been a good thing._  
  
“Sorry,” Rick said. “I'll throw something on.” He hopped up and sniffed his dirty clothes until he found the least offensive pair of pants, and then he threw on a sweatshirt.  
  
“Hey,” Daryl said, stopping him before he could open the front door.  
  
“Hmm.”  
  
“C'mere a minute,” he said.  
  
“Daryl, not right now.” Rick sighed.

“Ain't kissed me in two days, Rick. Ain't...” Daryl shook his head.

“You keepin track now?” Rick asked, prickling. He knew it was for no reason, that he was only ever pissed off for no reason these days. Or well, he had a reason, but he was directing his feelings to all to the wrong places. 

“Just miss you.”

“I'm right here.”

“Are you?” Daryl asked. Rick looked up and found sad blue eyes staring at him. All Daryl wanted was a kiss, and that frustrated him to no end for no fucking reason. You're a prick, Rick Grimes. He forced himself to lean over and give Daryl a peck, and then he opened the door and headed for the car, pretending not to hear the deep sigh behind him.  

* * *

Daryl sat on the table at the doctor's office, fidgeting and impatient, swinging his good leg like a five-year-old, his shoe hitting the metal drawers beneath him with little arrhythmic thumps. Rick twitched every time. Why did he have to make so much fucking noise? Why couldn't he just sit still?  
  
“I'll be right back,” Rick said. Ever since he'd noticed himself being shitty to Daryl, he'd been trying to get himself to walk out before he managed to say things he'd regret later. Sometimes it worked. Other times...  
  
“Where are you going?” Daryl asked.  
  
“Can't I take a piss without telling you?” He cringed at his own words. Why did he have to keep hurting him just because he was frustrated all the damn time and Daryl happened to be there? “Sorry. Just. I'll be back.”  
  
“Okay.”

Taking a piss turned into finding the nearest vending machine and shoving an entire Hershey's bar into his mouth while he mentally beat himself up for being a fucking asswad. He needed to cut this shit the fuck out before he lost the only good thing he had left. Of course, that was apparently easier said than done. And it wasn't just Daryl either. Every time Shane came over, it was the same thing. But Shane had an ego the size of Texas and could handle it. Daryl did not. No more, Rick. Seriously. Enough. 

When he came back, Daryl was still alone in the room, sitting still with his head down toward the floor, leg still as the grave.  
  
“Hey,” Rick said, putting his fingers under Daryl's chin. Blue eyes met his. “I'm sorry.”

“If you want me to move out, Aaron already said I'm welcome,” he said quietly. Christ, he knew he'd been an ass lately, but Daryl thought he... enough to talk to his friends about having somewhere else to go. 

“No, sweetheart, that's not what I want.”

“Just don't wanna kiss me no more or make love to me or... be nice to me.” Daryl bit his lip and looked away again. 

Rick put his face in his hands and sighed before looking back at the boy in front of him, trying to formulate his thoughts into something coherent, into something that would help Daryl understand that none of this was him.  
  
He started to open his mouth to explain when the exam room door opened. Daryl sat up and cleared his throat and Rick took his seat in the corner again. Just as well. Maybe by the time the doctor was done he'd have come up with some way of making this right.  
  
“Hi there.” The first thing Rick noticed about the man was his large smile, one of those ones so infectious that it _almost_ broke through all the bullshit he currently had swirling inside of him like some kind of shit tornado. A shitnado. Hey, maybe he could sell that idea to SyFy and solve all of his problems.  
  
“I'm Dr. Stookey. But you can call me Bob.”  
  
“Hi, uh, Bob,” Daryl said.  
  
“I see you had a shattered patella. Five pieces.” He looked at Daryl's chart. “Some other injuries too. Is everything okay there?”  
  
“Yeah. They checked me out when they took out the stitches.”  
  
Rick furrowed his brow. When had Daryl gone to get his stitches out? He knew the weeks had blurred together, but surely he'd remember that.  
  
“When did...?”

“Few weeks ago. It was right after... Maggie wanted to go shopping anyway so we just... You had enough going on.”

Rick nodded and let the doctor go on.  
  
“First things first, we need to have a look and see what's going on in there,” he said. “I'll have you taken for an x-ray in a moment. What are your goals though for healing?”

“Uh, goals?”

“Usually injuries like this people are in sports, ready to get back out on the field.”

“Oh, nah, play a sport but don't really need my knee for it. Mostly just wanna be able to walk again and ride my bike.”

“Bicycle?” he asked.

“Motorcycle,” Daryl said. “Wanna be able to work again too. Can't get up under a car when you can't get down onto a creeper.”

“Alright then, Mr. Dixon. Let me go order that x-ray for you and then we can see what we're looking at.” He smiled broadly at him and Rick in turn and left the exam room. 

“You didn't tell me you got them out,” Rick said, already on the verge of sizzling irritation again when he'd told himself no more than ten minutes ago that he HAD to do better.  
  
“Was more worried about you than my bum leg, Rick. Still am.”   
  
Rick closed his eyes and took a deep breath before nodding. No more. No more lashing out at Daryl. No no no.

“Wish you'd tell me what I did wrong though,” Daryl said. “Or did you just get tired of me?”

“You didn't do anything, and I'm not tired of you. I'm tired of... other things.” Tired of everything, actually. “Think you're just catching the ricochets. But I know I'm doing it, and I'm trying to stop.”

“But you ain't mad at me?”

“You have to actually do something for me to be mad at you, Daryl.”

“And you still...” Daryl shook his head.

“Love you?” Rick asked, and he nodded. “Of course I do.”

“Promise?” Daryl asked. “Promise you aren't just keeping me so it doesn't all feel like a waste.”

“Jesus, Daryl.” 

“Please, Rick.”

Rick got up and went and squatted down between Daryl's legs, making sure he firmly looked him in the eyes. 

“I love you and I want you around. Shit, Daryl, you're probably the only thing keeping me sane. I'm just having a hard time right now, and I'm sorry I've been hurting you so much. Like I said, I'm gonna try to do better, but I'll probably still screw up some more." He took one of Daryl's hands in his and rubbed his thumb on his wrist. "And it's not gonna be because you're doing anything wrong, but because I'm a little screwed up right now. Just try your best to be patient and tell me when I'm being an asshole. Please.”

“I can try to do that.” Daryl nodded. And then he reached forward, cautiously, like he was offering his hand to a snarling street dog. Rick stayed still and let the other man run his fingertips through his hair. And with that one single bit of contact, he realized how much he'd missed letting Daryl touch him. How much he'd missed touching Daryl.

He closed his eyes and let his head roll back into Daryl's hand, and the younger man continued finger-brushing his waves, petting them and scratching at Rick's scalp until he almost wanted to purr like a happy house cat. Rick knew it probably wouldn't last, but for a minute, it was like the fog of the past few weeks had lifted, and it was just him and Daryl again. Normal and whole. 

“Your hair's getting long,” Daryl said, lightly tugging on a strand of it. “Startin to get curls.”  
  
“Yours is too,” Rick said. It had been ages since Daryl had gotten that haircut for their Roanoke date, and his hair was nearly back to the impressive mop it had been that first time he'd ever seen him. “Maybe we should go together.”  
  
“Ain't the only thing we should do together.”  
  
Rick looked up, expecting a suggestive smirk, but he only found Daryl looking thoughtfully at the top of his head, fingers still working their way through his dark strands over and over again.  
  
“What else should we do then?” Rick asked, and he felt something sultry stirring inside of him for the first time in weeks.  
  
“Go pick out Halloween costumes. Maybe get some pumpkins. Maybe get some stuff to make pumpkin pie.”

“And what are we going to do with those costumes?” Rick asked. And of all the damn things, he had a vision of Daryl in a French maid outfit, violating himself with the handle of a novelty feather duster on top of the dining room table. Why? Why that? 

“Well, you know, there's a thing at Bounce. Everyone's goin. And they miss you.”

“They aren't pissed at me for being a jerk to you?” Rick asked.  
  
“Maybe a little, but they're still all trying to help you.”

“They are?”

“Mhm.”

“Then I guess we should get costumes so I can see everyone and thank them.” Rick tried to picture the little duck calendar on the wall back home. Shit. When even was Halloween?

“If we can't, you know, afford them, then we can just go to the thrift store or something and be zombies. I don't care.”

“May as well spend it while we've got it,” Rick said, shrugging. It was going to run out eventually. No use being miserable until they had to be. Or, rather, he'd been miserable for weeks now and making Daryl miserable too so if he could fix it for even one night, then that seemed like a good enough reason to make bad financial decisions. 

“So we're gonna?”  
  
“We'll go to Spirit when the doctor comes back and tells you that he'll be damned, but it's a miracle and he's never seen a knee heal so fast in his life.”  
  
“Probably has to X-Ray it so he can see this so-called miracle first,” Daryl said, his lips curling up at the corners.  
  
“You think?”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
Rick looked up to find Daryl smirking down at him. He stood up and rested his forehead against the other man's, and then the next thing he knew, their lips were brushing together, softly, sliding into place like two puzzle pieces that had never even been apart. Daryl grabbed the back of his neck like he was afraid Rick would stop.  
  
But fuck no. As far as he was concerned, he was never stopping again. Hell, he didn't know what had possessed him to stop in the first place.  
  
Behind him, someone cleared their throat. Daryl jumped in surprise, but he was reluctant to let Rick go even then, his hand sliding off Rick's neck slower than turtles racing through molasses. Rick sat back down, smiling at the way Daryl was grinning at the nurse, a blush creeping on his cheeks.  
  
“Here to take you to your x-ray,” she said. “If you're both done.”  
  
“Don't know if we're done, but you can take me,” Daryl said, hopping down off the table and sitting down in the wheelchair she'd brought in. He looked over and gave Rick a smile and a wink before she wheeled him out, and fuck if he hadn't missed seeing Daryl look at him with something besides hurt and pity too.  
  
Rick waited patiently for him to return, occupying his thoughts with potential costumes and how he could make up for every smile he'd probably robbed Daryl of these past few weeks.  

* * *

Daryl burst out of the doctor's office with Rick on his heels, practically skipping if you could even do that on crutches.  
  
“God, it feels so good. It feels so fucking good, Rick.” The words hit Rick right in the groin, and he was glad for the fall air cooling away the heat he wouldn't have even thought himself capable of anymore earlier that day.  
  
“Ahhhhh,” Daryl sighed, smiling. “This is the best day ever.”  
  
The doctor had relieved Daryl of his big hulking knee brace, exchanging it for a smaller one that Velcro'd on. He could take it off for bathing, which meant no more baths with one leg hanging over the side and no more having to wrap himself in plastic to shower .  
  
Dr. Bob hadn't cleared him for riding his motorcycle, but he had given him instructions on how to start putting weight on his knee. It would be a slow process, restoring his leg's ability to bear weight and his knee's range of motion, but Daryl was young and healthy and healing very well according to the x-rays.   
  
“I can wear real pants again,” Daryl said. Rick resisted the urge to point out that cargo pants _were_ real pants, but he knew what Daryl meant. He didn't have to wear baggy stuff that would fit over his brace anymore. He could wear jeans again.   
  
Daryl reached the car and stood patiently by the door, practically bouncing on the spot. Rick started the hit the door lock, but he thought better of it. Instead he spun Daryl around and pinned him against the Camry, kissing him where he stood.  
  
“Yes,” Daryl said, burying his lips in the solid inch or two of beard Rick had grown out and kissing up his jaw. “More.”  
  
“Thought you wanted to pick out a Halloween costume,” Rick teased, but he kissed his lover again anyway.  
  
“Oh my god,” Daryl whispered excitedly. “Rick, I don't have to worry about picking out a costume that will cover my stupid fucking knee.”  
  
“You are adorable right now,” Rick said. “I want to take you home.”  
  
Daryl's eyes flicked to his and he raised his eyebrow.  
  
“And do what, Rick Grimes?”  
  
“Stuff, I reckon. Things.”  
  
“Maybe I'll let you after we carve the pumpkins,” Daryl said. "If you're good."   
  
“Fair enough.”  
  
Rick gave him another kiss and unlocked the car.


	36. Pretty Pumpkin

Daryl had always loved Halloween the most out of all the holidays. Maybe it was because it was the one big holiday that never came with warm familial expectations. Or maybe it was because it had been kind to him even when he was poor white trash—no one would deny a kid candy even if they dressed as a sheet ghost every year. Or perhaps it was just that it was the one day a year he was almost guaranteed to not have to deal with his dad, since the company where he worked always put on a carnival and forced everyone to help out one way or another.  
  
No matter the real reason, he loved it. He loved everything from haunted houses to cute little ceramic black cats set out on front porches. He love dressing up and watching old horror movies on TV. He loved carving pumpkins and eating candy until he felt sick.  
  
With the way things had been going lately with Rick though, he'd been expecting this to be the first Halloween he didn't really enjoy. Which is why when Rick agreed to go get costumes and Halloween stuff with him after the doctor, he'd been ecstatic. Getting his brace off and getting his first real kiss from Rick in days had just been icing on top of an already extremely moist cake.  
  
“I've never been here before,” Daryl said, stepping through the doors of Spirit Halloween with Rick to his left. There was spooky music playing on the PA system and a fake graveyard in the corner. Nearby, a decoration jumped out and cackled. Daryl smiled like a kid in a candy store. He felt like one too  
  
“Really?” Rick asked, absentmindedly reaching for one of Daryl's hands in the doorway before he brushed against the cool metal of his crutch. He drew it back and shook his head.  
  
“Nope. Only saw decorations and costumes at the supermarket. This is awesome.” Daryl made a beeline for the back wall of animatronics, trying out every one, and laughing when Rick subtly jumped and swore next to him.  
  
“Do you want to get a few things for the house, Daryl?” Rick asked.  
  
Daryl looked around them at the vast selection of potential "things." No, no Rick was out of a job and the costumes were too much already and really he shouldn't have even fucking asked for those but... Hell, why had he asked for anything again? Hadn't he spent this whole damn time trying not to take Rick's money?

But it's Halloween. 

“Nah.”  
  
“Liar,” Rick said.  
  
“It's alright. Can enjoy it all enough here.”  
  
“Mhm,” Rick said. A little girl slowly approaching one of the plastic werewolves caught Daryl's eye, and he watched her step up to it cautiously, each step jerky with the anticipation of what it would do. When it finally popped and howled, she giggled and ran away. Sometimes kids were cute. Sometimes Daryl was pretty sure he might want one someday... Sometimes...   
  
He turned back around to see if Rick had been watching too, but he was gone.    
  
“Rick...”  
  
“Here,” Rick said, returning with a little shopping basket in his hand. “Won't hurt to get just a few things.”

“Just costumes and pumpkins,” Daryl corrected. 

“C'mon darlin. It's our first holiday together and I want to decorate our house for it _._ Do you want to help me pick everything out or not?”  
  
Daryl stared at Rick, dangling the shopping basket from his hand. He looked the older man in the eyes, and he knew they both knew that Rick didn't give two shits about decorating their house for anything, because Rick was secretly a lazy chocolate-eating fuck. But he also knew that Rick had figured out that he was really into this and that Rick wanted to do it together _because_ he was into it. And damn't _it was Halloween_.  
  
“Alright.”  
  
“So what do we need?” Rick asked. He picked up a bag of glow-in-the-dark cobwebs. “Some of these?”  
  
“Yeah. Need those for the porch, and then the plain ones for inside.” Daryl grabbed a bag of white webs and threw them into the basket, and then he looked at Rick, casually reading the box for a string of skull lights, and he sighed.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Nothing. Just never thought I'd wanna make out with a guy in the middle of a Halloween store.”  
  
Rick looked around, brows furrowed.  
  
“Which guy?” he asked.  
  
“Fuck you, Rick,” Daryl said, smacking him on the arm with a bag of plastic spiders. Rick laughed quietly and licked his lips before grabbing Daryl by the chin and kissing him. Nearby, one of the animatronics leaped out and started cackling wildly. Daryl felt his boyfriend jolt violently in his arms and giggled into the kiss, his lips vibrating against Rick's.  
  
“Not funny,” Rick said, sexy and dangerous in that I'll-hurt-you-but-you'll-like-it sort of way. “You'll pay for that later.”  
  
“Countin on it,” Daryl said, and then he went on his way, snatching up a door cover and casually tossing in the basket.  
  
By the time they made it to the costume section, they'd had to switch to an actual shopping cart. They had everything from little decorative pumpkins to creepy-looking battery operated candles, to bats and an animatronic jumping spider that Daryl knew he was going to personally get more than a few laughs out of.  
  
He hugged Rick next to a rack of colored hair spray.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“Thank you for putting up with me the past few weeks,” Rick said. He kissed Daryl on the cheek, his new beard tickling his skin, and then he picked up a “sexy crayon” costume and held it up. “I think purple is your color.”  
  
“Stop.”  
  
“There's green too,” Rick said. “Too bad they seem to be out of stock on blue though. Would really do things for your eyes.”

“Little too cold to be dressing up as risque art supplies, Rick.”

“I'm sure they have tights.” Rick looked around.  
  
“Then you wear it.”

Rick smiled at him and put it back. 

“I don't even know what I want to be,” Rick said.  
  
“I don't either. But I know I want my legs covered so let's get away from the sexy shit.”  
  
They moved around to the next aisle. Rick ran his fingers over a rock star costume. Daryl contemplated how the picture would translate to Rick's body, imagining him with fake leather pants and a silver shirt. Eh. It'd be alright. But not something he'd want to rip off of him at the end of the night. Which was what he was going for really if he thought about it. He had a hot boyfriend and now he could actually enjoy him in public. Best to make it fun for himself.  
  
He raked his eyes over everything from clowns to “raptor trainer,” but in the end his vision kept circling back to the cop costume. Tight and black. He flicked his eyes down Rick's body and back to the costume and when he imagined that in particular, his stomach did a nice little flippy thing and he knew, _knew_ that he was going to get Rick in (and out) of that costume on Halloween night even if it killed him.

“This is yours,” Daryl said, pushing it against his chest.  
  
“Don't I get to pick my own?” Rick asked.  
  
“Sure. But that's the one I wanna tear you out of.”  
  
Rick raised his eyebrow and tilted his head.  
  
“Well, isn't that a coincidence? This is just the one I was going to pick.”  
  
“I bet it was.”  
  
“And you?” Rick asked.  
  
Daryl looked around, and then his eyes fell on it. Perfect. Simple and perfect. He grabbed it and held it up so Rick could see.  
  
“Wanna play cops and robbers?”  
  
Rick looked at the little costume with the black and white striped shirt and smiled.  
  
“Oh, Daryl Dixon, how ever will you stay out of jail?” Rick asked, and Daryl had to resist the urge to close his eyes and revel in that sound. Because Rick had dropped his voice deep and low and it felt like years since he'd heard his lover use that particular timbre.  
  
“I don't know, _Officer Grimes_. Maybe we can think of something.”  
  
“Oh, I don't doubt it. You're way too pretty for prison.” Rick slid his fingertips down Daryl's arm, and the younger man had no choice but to take a step back. He tossed his costume in the basket and jerked his head toward the checkout counter.  
  
“Don't wanna try 'em on?”  
  
“If we're in here for another minute, Rick, I really will be tryin to figure out how to stay out of jail.”

“Fair enough,” Rick said. He followed Daryl up front, and they paid and headed home. 

* * *

The car ride home seemed to drag on for an eternity, and Daryl could've sworn that they hit every single damn red light on the way. Beside him, Rick drummed on the steering wheel with his thumbs, fidgeting in his seat.   
  
Daryl wasn't faring much better himself, violently chewing on his fingers while the car in front of them went 40 in a 65. He could see Rick's chest rising and falling just a little too quickly out of the corner of his eye, and he couldn't stand it anymore. He reached down and palmed himself through his cargos, sighing softly in relief.   
  
“Quit that,” Rick said, slowing to a stop at yet another stupid fucking cockblocking motherdicking red light. He looked over at Daryl squirming in the passenger seat. Daryl looked back, eyes falling to the older man's erection, admiring the way his sweatpants molded around it.  
  
“But...” Daryl bucked up against his palm again.  
  
“Now,” Rick said, sternly. And Daryl was very, very tempted to disobey just to see exactly what the consequences would be. Instead, he reached up and wrapped his fingers around the “oh shit” handle, squeezing it tightly and giving the other man the most insincere glare he could muster.  
  
Behind them, a car honked, and Rick looked up to find the light had gone green. They drove on.  
  
By the time they got home, Rick had a wet spot on the front of his sweats and Daryl was practically whimpering from watching him roll his hips in an attempt to rut against the fabric. They didn't bother with unloading the car, nor did Rick wait for Daryl to crutch across the yard, sweeping him up in his arms as soon as he stood up out of the front seat.  
  
“Hey, I need you to do somethin for me, Rick.”  
  
“Can you unlock the front door first?” he asked.  
  
Daryl took the keys pressed against his side and let them both in. Rick kicked the door shut behind them and headed directly for the bedroom, weaving through the furniture and down the hallway like they had some kind of time limit.  
  
“What do you need me to do?” he asked after depositing Daryl on their bed. “Besides pound you in the ass until the neighbors know my name?”  
  
“It's a little weird." Daryl chewed on his lip.  
  
“I licked chocolate body paint off your dick once. What do you want, sugar?”  
  
“For you... for you to rub your beard on... everything?” Daryl covered his face with a pillow to hide the blush creeping up on his cheeks.  
  
“Mhm.” Rick gently coaxed the pillow away from him and dropped it on the mattress before reaching for the button of Daryl's cargo pants. He unzipped them and worked them down Daryl's legs along with his underwear, planting a soft kiss on his new knee brace before liberating him of everything from the waist down, socks included.   
  
“Take care of that sweater for me,” Rick said, tugging his own hoodie off over his head. He left the sweat pants on for now, sitting low on his hips with the twin planes of his hip bones visible. Daryl complied and finished stripping off his clothes. Rick knelt on the bed between his legs.  
  
Daryl watched, waiting for the glorious feeling of Rick's mouth on him. But he didn't get it. Not yet at least. Instead Rick leaned down and nuzzled against his left knee, trailing coarse hair up his inner thigh—higher and higher until Daryl's breaths were nothing but sparse little gasps.  
  
God that felt even better than anything he could have imagined. Fuck. This was it. This was the day he was going to die.  
  
“That what you want?” Rick asked.  
  
“Don't stop.”  
  
Chuckling softly, Rick leaned down and planted a kiss on Daryl's other thigh, right above the brace, and then he placed kisses all the way up to the place where leg met torso, trailing his lips and beard behind each one. Daryl moaned softly, unable to stop the subtle vibration of all of his limbs.   
  
Please touch me. Please touch me. Please...  
  
But Rick bypassed his erection entirely, leaning over it to rub his face against his stomach, working his chin back and forth across Daryl's skin, moving lower and lower.  
  
Please, fucking... Why had he even asked for this? This was too much. Too much. Too. much.    
  
Rick stopped abruptly, inches away from his cock, and Daryl let out a soft whine.  
  
“Something wrong, sugar?”  
  
“Please.”  
  
“Please what?”  
  
“Touch me.”

“I am touchin you,” Rick teased, rubbing his thumbs where they currently rested on Daryl's waist.  
  
“Rick...”  
  
“What do you want, sweetheart?”  
  
“You.”  
  
“Mhm.” Rick leaned up and nuzzled the space between his hip bones, sucking on the flesh above each of them in turn.  
  
“Please.”  
  
“All you have to do is tell me what you want, Daryl.”  
  
“Your mouth.”  
  
“Where?”  
  
“Where do you think?”  
  
“Mhm.” Rick ran his tongue around his belly button and Daryl let out a frustrated groan. Rick smirked. “Oh, so you didn't mean here?”  
  
“Please put your mouth on my dick, or I'm going to die.”  
  
“All you had to do was say,” Rick said with a little quirk of his lips, and then he slid his face down, lightly brushing against Daryl's erection with his beard before taking the tip between his lips.  
  
“Oh, shit,” Daryl groaned, watching Rick slide his beautiful mouth down lower, and it took everything he had to keep from bucking up into the heat of it. Rick pulled off.  
  
“I don't know if I have the patience to keep playing with you today,” he said, reaching down to rub himself through his sweats.  
  
“Then don't.”  
  
“Don't? You sure?”  
  
“Hand me the lube. Won't take me as long as it will you.”  
  
Rick nodded and scrambled up the empty side of the bed, pulling lube and a condom out of the night stand. Daryl frowned. With everything that had gone on, they'd never gone to get tested together like they said they were going to. But he'd bring that up later.  
  
For now, he had other things to attend to. He took the bottle from Rick and squeezed lube onto his fingers, rubbing them together and making sure they were all coated.  
  
“Can you bend to reach? You sure you don't need me to?” Rick asked.   
  
“Nope.” Daryl bent his good leg and crossed it over the other, half turning to the side, and then he reached back. He popped fingers into himself one after the other about as fast as his body could possibly take them, stretching his ass open and wincing a little at the burn.  
  
“Don't hurt yourself.”  
  
“Won't,” Daryl grunted. He arched back some more so he could push deeper, spreading his fingers wide, pushing at the walls of his entrance until they were loose enough that he knew he could take Rick. Then he yanked them out and wiped them clean on the sheet. Rick was there almost immediately, naked and wrapped and ready to go.   
  
“Have an idea,” he said, tugging Daryl toward the edge of the bed. Daryl slipped to the floor and Rick helped him hop around on his good leg until he was up against the mattress.   
  
“Think this'll work for you?” Rick asked, bending him over the bed so that it took most of his weight.   
  
Daryl nodded.  
  
“Good.” The older man pulled his ass apart and mm'd appreciatively.  
  
“Thought you said you didn't have the patience to play?”  
  
“I don't.” And without another word on the matter, Rick slid in to the hilt. And damn if Daryl hadn't missed that almost as much as he missed Rick just being Rick.  
  
“Oh shit.”  
  
“You good?” Rick asked. Daryl held up one finger, waiting for his body to settle in around his lover's cock, and then he nodded. Rick pulled out and thrust back in deep.  
  
“Funny how you don't realize how much you missed something until you're doing it again,” Rick said.  
  
“I realized...”  
  
“I know you did, darlin.”  
  
“One night I laid in here and fucked myself with about everything in the nightstand, hoping you'd hear me and... but when I went out there you were asleep.”

“Tell me what I missed?” Rick asked, picking up the pace, his hands holding his boyfriend's hips steady. 

“Started out with the beads. Was curious.”  
  
“Did you like them?”  
  
“Felt better than I expected. Made me moan a little,” Daryl said.  
  
“Not enough though?”  
  
“Nuh uh. Needed more.”  
  
“I'll bet you did,” Rick said. “Sorry I wasn't there to give it to you.”  
  
“Grabbed that big ol' dildo in there.”  
  
“Enjoy it?”  
  
“Hard as hell gettin it in. Kept having to stop and finger myself because I wasn't open enough to take it, but, once I got it in...”  
  
“How hard did you fuck yourself with it?” Rick asked, his thrusts having reached a pace that had Daryl's words coming out in huffs and the bed squeaking.  
  
“I'm surprised you slept through it, Rick. I couldn't even bump it without... Hell, surprised a neighbor didn't show up and offer to help me out.”  
  
“I'm sorry I slept through it. Sorry I haven't been giving you what you need, sugar.” Rick lifted his leg up and slipped his foot in between the box spring and the mattress for better leverage, and then he went harder, pounding into his boyfriend relentlessly, each movement at this angle making Daryl's body sing.   
  
“It's okay. You... Gotta deal with...” Daryl groaned deep in his throat. “Gotta take care of... yourself.”  
  
Rick fanned himself over Daryl's back, finding Daryl's hands gripping the bed sheets and covering them with his own, pushing his fingers between the younger man's and squeezing. He kissed his left temple, then down his hairline to his ear.  
  
“How hard did you cum?” he asked, voice sultry and quiet, lips brushing against his lobe before sucking it in.  
  
“Almost as hard as I do with you. Wanna know the best part though?”  
  
“Tell me,” Rick said, rolling their bodies together like the violent ocean waves of a hurricane. Daryl was so damn close, every thrust hitting him just right, his cock rubbing against the sheets with the motion of it.  
  
“I came into your pillow.” At the time he'd done it because the pillow still smelled vaguely like strawberries (not that Rick had bothered styling his hair in ages), but he knew Rick. Knew he got off on the filthy shit. That he liked to defile things.   
  
“Jesus Christ,” Rick said, punctuating each words with a fierce thrust into Daryl's hole.  
  
“Changed the case but you didn't notice.”  
  
“Fuck, Daryl, I'm...”  
  
“I'm close too.”  
  
“Need me to jerk you off?”  
  
“Rubbin against the bed. Just don't stop.”  
  
Rick grunted and kept pounding, squeezing Daryl's hands tighter and tighter as he tried to hold off on his own orgasm. He leaned down and nuzzled his beard into the back of Daryl's neck, and that's when Daryl was completely done for.  
  
“Ah fuck.” He groaned loud, burying his face in the sheets, his cock twitching out his release between his stomach and the mattress. Rick followed almost immediately, groaning against his shoulder and unloading in his ass.  
  
He stayed there for a moment, limp against Daryl's back, each labored breath breezing by his hair.  
  
“I love you so much,” Daryl mumbled out.  
  
“I love you too, Daryl. Sorry you haven't felt it much lately.”  
  
“I feel it now.” Daryl squeezed at the fingers still twined with his, and Rick squeezed back before covering the nape of his neck in kisses.  
  
“Ready to decorate?” he asked, pulling out and discarding what would hopefully be their last condom if Daryl had his way.  
  
“Not yet,” Daryl said, climbing back up onto the bed. “Hold me for a while?”  
  
Rick smiled and crawled up beside him, letting Daryl rest his head on the crook of his arm and reaching over to play in his ragged hair.  
  
“Are you, you know, good now?” Daryl asked, leaning into the gentle brush of Rick's fingers on his scalp.  
  
“Wish I could say I was, but I don't know,” Rick said. “You just keep making sure I take care of me and I will be eventually. Make sure I take care of you too.”  
  
“I can do that.”  
  
“You've been a great boyfriend through this, Daryl. Don't think I haven't noticed.”  
  
Daryl didn't know what to say to that, so he settled for tracing patterns on Rick's stomach instead. It had filled out a little with him pretty much doing nothing but laying around and eating junk food, but he still looked nice. Then again, Daryl had a feeling there was no version of any universe in which Rick Grimes didn't look nice.

“We never got tested by the way,” Daryl said. “Guess because of all the stuff that happened.”  
  
“Yeah, I remembered about when I picked up that condom.”  
  
“Tomorrow?”  
  
“Tomorrow,” Rick agreed.

Daryl relaxed into the feeling of being in his arms again for something besides sleeping. Beside them, the numbers on the alarm clock ticked forward. Daryl watched lazily, giving them a full twenty minutes before he finally couldn't stand that there were Halloween decorations just sitting there. He sat up.    
  
“Alright, old man, stop lazin around. We got shit to do.”  
  
He grabbed his crutches and went over to the dresser to steal some sweats. But the drawer he usually pilfered from was empty.  
  
“And one of them things is laundry,” Daryl said, finding the stolen cargo pants on the floor and pulling them back on instead.  
  
“Sorry,” Rick said, stepping back into his sweats from earlier. Together they trekked out to the car and got their bags from the Halloween store inside. Rick let Daryl start hollowing out a pumpkin at the dining room table while he threw on a load of laundry, and then together the two of them carved one jack-o-lantern each.  
  
“Mine's prettier'n yours,” Daryl said. He'd used one of the stencils in their kit and managed to carve out a cute little witch. And he was pretty damn proud of it really.  
  
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Daryl,” Rick said, accidentally cutting out one of his little face's intended teeth entirely. “I think he's lovely.”  
  
“In the dark, maybe,” he teased.  
  
“Watch it,” Rick said, picking up a handful of pumpkin gook.  
  
“Sorry. Hey, look, I'm sure your pumpkin has a great persona-Rick!” A handful of seeds and goo hit Daryl right across the chest with a splat. 

“I told you to-oh no you don't!” He dodged around the handful Daryl threw in retaliation, the mess scattering across the seat of the next chair and onto the floor. 

“This is war, Rick!” Daryl grabbed another handful. He faked Rick out once and managed to land a handful right in the face, orange clinging to his beard in little strings. The older man stared at Daryl, shaking his head at him and slowly gathering up a handful of ammo.  
  
“You're going down, Daryl Dixon.” He threw it and the younger man covered his face, but it didn't matter because Rick had been aiming right for the crotch of his cargo pants, which is exactly where everything landed. Daryl looked up and found his lover giggling behind his hand.  
  
And then it was on—an all-out race for who could clear their piles of pumpkin slime first. Daryl used some of the newspaper they'd laid down as a shield, at a disadvantage since he couldn't really get up and hide behind the furniture like Rick could.  
  
Orange muck flew back and forth across the kitchen, splattering against the walls. Daryl grabbed it from where it landed around him, and Rick crawled around on the floor to pick more up, neither of them stopping until the entire room and their clothes were good and thoroughly fucked.  
  
“You're a mess,” Rick said, sitting down in his chair, his chest heaving. He reached up and picked some sludge out of Daryl's hair, dropping it on the floor. “This room is going to smell like pumpkins for the rest of our lives.”  
  
“Best part is you get to clean it up.” Daryl reached over and fingered some of the gunk out of Rick's beard.  
  
“Slick. Play the injured card.”  
  
“Don't know what you're talking about,” Daryl said, doing his best to look innocent. Rick rolled his eyes.   
  
“Go take a shower. I'll take care of it.”  
  
But Daryl didn't. He got a rag and helped wipe down the table and the chairs while Rick swept and mopped and scrubbed the walls.  
  
They finished decorating before they cleaned themselves up, setting some purple and orange pumpkins on the center of the table with candles and cobwebs and a whole litter of plastic spiders.  
  
They put their door cover on the front door and Daryl sat in the porch swing supervising while Rick strung glow-in-the-dark webs and purple lights across the porch in the fading evening light. The jack-o-lanterns went on either side of the stairs, and Rick helped his lover crutch down the driveway in the twilight so he could look at them properly.  
  
It wasn't the best-decorated house either of them had ever seen, but it was theirs.  
  
Daryl leaned over on his shoulder, smiling at the feeling of Rick snaking an arm around his waist, the warmth of it seeping through the fabric of his sweater.  
  
“Thank you for this,” Daryl said. “For buyin stuff and for helping.”  
  
“Worth it to watch you take a handful of pumpkin to the dick.”  
  
“Wow, Rick, way to ruin the moment,” Daryl said, but he leaned over and took a kiss anyway, grinning against his lips.  
  
“C'mon, sugar, let's go get the pumpkin out of your hair.”  
  
Rick helped him back up the driveway and the two of them showered together before sliding into fresh, warm pairs of sweats. Afterwards, Rick made hot cocoa, and they spent the rest of the night snuggled up on the couch watching 13 Nights of Halloween.   
  
It was a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a [pic](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/74/49/39/7449393e10deb198a47c2ccdcc994a6a.jpg) of Norman in a striped shirt since that's basically Daryl's costume. It's important.


	37. Halloween

Rick felt a little more normal in the days between their decorating and Halloween. There were still days when time blurred together and he had to set alarms to keep himself on track, but it was a little easier to get up and make it over to the college to drop Daryl off and pick him up. And it wasn't as hard to get himself to finish up the rest of the massive piles of laundry and dishes that had accumulated.

He wasn't better, but he was.  
  
“What do you think?” Daryl asked.  
  
Rick had settled at the dining room table, and was currently trying to get his cheap, plastic gun belt assembled properly, complete with his very real set of pilfered handcuffs. The whole thing kept bending and warping. Fucking costumes.  
  
He looked up at Daryl, who was bouncing impatiently on his good leg waiting for his attention. Rick unconsciously licked his lips before he even fully took in what he was looking at. The younger man had carefully painted a black mask around his eyes in grease makeup. The result was that his blue eyes looked even more impossibly dazzling than usual—two sapphires floating on a midnight sea. The additional result was that he looked like something Rick wanted to violate against the stove.   
  
“I think you made the right call doing that instead of a mask.” He looked like a sexy raccoon.   
  
“So it looks good then? Is it even? Do I look like I could take your money and kick your ass?”  
  
“You look like we could stay home and spend all night getting cum on all the furnture.”  
  
“You're a dirty old man, Rick Grimes.”  
  
“And you love it.”  
  
Daryl smirked and shrugged, and then he left the room, presumably to finish getting dressed. Rick continued trying to fuss with one of the plastic cases on his holster, accidentally grazing his knuckle on one of the snaps. He swore loudly and threw it across the kitchen, the whole thing slamming into the sliding glass doors that led into the back yard. From the other side of the house, he was pretty sure he heard Daryl laugh.  
  
Little shit.  
  
Rick got up and went and picked the belt up off the floor. Oh well. He'd have to settle for it being good enough. He laid it on the table and went to join Daryl in the bedroom so he could put on his uniform.  
  
“What do you think?” Daryl asked. The black and white shirt hugged him in all the right places. It was a little tight, stretching magnificently over his shoulders and showing all of the definition in his arms. It even hit his waist at the perfect spot to make the wiring in Rick's brain short circuit just a little.  
  
“Are you sure you don't wanna stay home?” he asked, closing the gap between them and pushing his hands up under the bottom of Daryl's shirt to touch his stomach. Daryl gently pushed his hands away.  
  
“Get dressed, Rick. Playin' cops and robbers, not robber and pajama pervert.”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
Daryl sat down on the bed and put his socks and shoes on. How he'd ever managed to figure out how to put his sock on with nothing but the toes of his other foot, Rick wouldn't know. But he'd gotten pretty damn good at it.   
  
The former professor picked up his uniform from on top of the dresser and started pulling it on. Black pants, black shirt, a little silver badge, a hat, and a pair of aviators. He turned around and looked at Daryl, sitting casually on the bed and watching him dress.  
  
“Well?”  
  
“I don't know exactly what's gonna happen tonight,” Daryl said. “But I'm pretty damn sure I know how it's gonna end.”  
  
Rick walked over and gave his little bandit a kiss.  
  
“I'm going to catch you, Dixon, if it's the last thing I do.”  
  
“You'll never take me alive, copper.” Daryl got up and grabbed his crutches, and then he started laughing wildly.  
  
“What's so funny, little duck?”  
  
“The idea of a robber trying to make a getaway on crutches.”  
  
“It's alright,” Rick said, wrapping his hands around his waist and grinding his half-hard cock against his ass. “We both know you really want to get caught.”  
  
“Better stop. I ain't finishin it if you start it.”  
  
“And that's why you're going to jail tonight, sweet pea,” Rick said, kissing along the back of Daryl's neck, right underneath the place where his new haircut ended. They'd gone and gotten them together after getting tested (all clear), and Rick hadn't been able to keep his hands off Daryl's head since.

Daryl shuddered and leaned back into the touch for a brief moment, and then he took a big step away. 

“We better go if we're gonna miss the cover,” Daryl said, slipping a few wads of fake cash into his pocket. Rick sighed and went to get his gun belt.

* * *

When Daryl stepped into the club with Rick on his heels, he couldn't help but look around in awe. The simple front bar room had been transformed, decorated heavily with cobwebs. All around the room were little pumpkin arrangements painted in different colors. He recognized some of them from being the GSA—the different colors of various flags in the community. It was everything he loved about Halloween combined with a part of himself he'd finally accepted, and he couldn't have placed words on his feelings if he wanted to.  
  
“Daryl! Rick!” Daryl looked toward Maggie's voice and found her and the others crammed into a bar table in the corner. He made his way over, the sounds of a remixed _Monster Mash_ floating in from the back room. She jumped up and hugged him, engulfing him in the arms of her Luigi costume. Beside her, Mario Glenn waved.

“It's so good to see you, Prof- um, Rick,” Eric said from his perch on Aaron's lap. They hadn't gone the matching costume route, and Eric had donned a cute scarecrow costume where Aaron was dressed in a racing suit.

“You too, Eric. All of you really.” 

“Tara ain't here yet?” Daryl asked. 

“Right behind you, asshole.” He turned around and found her pulling up an extra stool which she gestured for him to sit in.  
  
“What are you supposed to be?” Rick asked, sitting down and pulling the younger man into his lap, helping him prop his leg up on one of the rungs of Aaron's stool. Daryl looked Tara over. She didn't seem to be dressed up at all.  
  
“A lesbian,” she said, winking at him.  
  
“Always did like you, Tara,” Rick said, laughing.  
  
“Where's Alicia?” Daryl asked.  
  
“Probably with her new girlfriend.”  
  
“Ouch.”  
  
“It happens.” She shrugged. “I've got my eye on that green crayon over there anyway.”  
  
Daryl and Rick both turned around and started laughing. It seemed like the entire staff had dressed up as “sexy crayons” for Halloween, every single one of them squeezed into the tight shiny fabric.

“The one in the green heels I'd probably bust my butt in?” Maggie asked.  
  
“That's the one,” Tara said. The girl in the crayon costume looked over at them and smiled before approaching.  
  
“Anything I can get you all tonight?”  
  
Everyone at the table started ordering sodas and drinks except for Tara. Daryl side-eyed her. He'd never seen Tara in action, and he had no idea how much game she had. She squared her shoulders and looked at the other girl head on.  
  
“Tara Chambler,” she said, holding out her hand.  
  
Daryl shifted his gaze back to the other woman. She eyed Tara's hand but slowly reached out and took it.  
  
“Nice to meet you, Tara Chambler. I'll tell you my name later,” she said. “If you earn it.”

“I'll have a Jack and Coke then,” Tara said. “And I've never had a problem working for what I want.”

Daryl watched the way the other girl's lip curled up, and he had a feeling that she'd probably been staking Tara out as much as she had her. He was suddenly very glad that Rick's arms were firmly around his waist, because there was no way he could ever look at anyone with as much confidence as Tara seemed to look at the whole damn bar.

The green crayon walked away to get their drinks.

“Holy crap, dude,” Glenn said. Tara shrugged. 

“So how're things?” Maggie asked, reaching over and giving Daryl's hand a squeeze.  
  
“Good. Better,” Daryl said, nodding. “You?”  
  
“Still great.” She glanced back at Glenn with a smile. “Your costumes are adorable.”  
  
“Adorable isn't the word I would've gone with,” Eric said. “The tweed was bad enough, honestly.”

Daryl could feel Rick's chest shaking with quiet laughter against his back.

“Hey, watch it,” Daryl said. “Officer Friendly is mine.”

Rick rewarded him with a nuzzle into the back of his neck, and Daryl couldn't help the way his eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of beard hair raking across his skin. It was going to be a long-ass night.

The waitress came back with their drinks shortly after, her and a male bartender dressed as a red crayon carrying them between them. They looked like Christmas. With liquor.

“Rick,” the man said, holding up a drink. Behind him, Daryl felt Rick stiffen slightly. He turned and looked back at him and found his jaw clenched. What the fuck was that about? Daryl looked the guy over. He was thin but muscular, with jet black hair and eyes the color of emeralds. He was good-looking even in the ill-fitting costume. Had Rick? Had they? 

Some little voice in the back of his head asked if maybe that was the kind of guy Rick really wanted, if maybe he'd wake up someday and...   
  
Daryl pushed it away. Rick wanted him. He had proven that time and time again.  

“Thank you,” Rick said, taking his beverage. But the bartender didn't leave. He stood there, staring at Daryl and sizing him up. He'd never felt so scrutinized in his entire life, and he shrank back from the gaze. 

“He's cute,” he said finally.  
  
“I'm aware,” Rick responded.  
  
“Well, if you get bored with him tonight, you know where to find me.” He reached out and touched Rick's arm, and Daryl let out a feral-sounding growl, low in his throat. He wondered if he'd get banned for life if he beat a bartender to death with one of his crutches.  
  
Rick must have heard him, because he took one of his hands and squeezed it reassuringly.   
  
“Don't count on it,” Rick said. The bartender gave him a patronizing look like he thought differently and slinked back to the bar.

“What the hell?” Daryl asked.

“Just an old mistake,” Rick said.

“You... with him?” Daryl asked. He looked back over at the bar again, at the defined muscles of his arms, at his lithe frame. He couldn't fight back the pang of jealousy or that little voice in his head telling him that, see, Rick _did_ want a guy like that. 

“Regretfully, yes.” Rick downed about half of his drink.

“How?”

“Sweetheart, you really don't want to hear that story.”

“No, Rick, I do,” Daryl said. Because he had to know. Had to know if it was special or not. He'd never met any of Rick's exes. It was weird and it left a funny feeling in his stomach that he didn't like at all. Rick sighed and set his empty drink down on the table.

“Got plastered one night and fucked him in the bathroom.”

Eric and Glenn simultaneously choked on their drinks.

“In.. in that bathroom?” Daryl asked, looking over at it. It felt like years since he'd accidentally knocked Rick on his ass in there.

“Yes,” Rick said. “Not my finest moment.”

“Just the once?”

“Mhm.”

Daryl stood up and grabbed his crutches. 

“Daryl, what are you doing?” Rick asked. Good question. What  _was_ he doing? Why did he feel like he had to prove he was better than that guy?   
  
“Show me,” he said, and he took off for the bathroom. Behind him, he heard Rick call after him, but he didn't stop, not until he was in the bathroom, locked in the last stall.  
  
Time stretched by, and Daryl briefly thought that Rick wouldn't follow him, but then he saw the shiny black shoes come in, walking down the line and presumably glancing at everyone's feet until he found the right pair.  
  
“Let me in,” Rick said. Daryl unlocked the stall door and Rick slipped inside. He immediately grabbed for the fly on Rick's jeans, but Rick batted his hand away.  
  
“Daryl, I'm not going to screw you in a bathroom.”  
  
“Why not?” How could he fuck some stupid bartender in a bathroom but not him? Rick reached up and cupped his face. 

“Because you're better than that, sugar,” Rick said. He pulled Daryl close to him and kissed him, mouthing across his jaw and sucking on the spot behind his ear. He dropped his voice low so that even Daryl could barely hear what he was saying. “I'm going to fuck the living hell out of you tonight. But I'm not gonna do it here.” 

He unlocked the stall door and tugged Daryl out.

* * *

By midnight, Rick was good and thoroughly sloshed and mildly regretting not taking Daryl up on his offer. He couldn't keep his hands off of him. Didn't want to. Didn't have to.  
  
Eric had gotten drunk enough to spin around on Aaron's lap and was making out with him with fervor, hands tangled in his hair. Tara had gone with the green crayon for her break. And Glenn and Maggie were chatting quietly, almost nose to nose with each other, stealing the occasional kiss between words.  
  
Rick slid his hand up the front of Daryl's shirt and rested it on his stomach, purposely grazing his crotch on the way. Daryl subtly shifted, slowly rolling his hips in tiny waves, almost imperceptible to the eye but definitely noticeable on Rick's sensitive flesh. He leaned forward and murmured in the younger man's ear.  
  
“You should've known I'd catch up to you, Daryl. What is it your men call you? Dirty Dixon?”  
  
“Who says you've caught me, Officer? Maybe I've got you right where I want you.”

“And where's that?” Rick asked, growing harder and harder in his uniform pants while Daryl rocked against him.

“In the palm of my hand.”

Rick chuckled and nuzzled his beard against Daryl's neck. “Guess you've got me there, double D.” 

“Well, well, well. Besides this cute little lap dance, did we miss anything good? Meant to be here earlier but got a little... caught up.”  
  
Rick froze again for the second time that night. Daryl froze too. Both of their gazes shifted at once.  
  
“Shane?” Rick asked, sounding more than just a little amazed. “What the hell are you doing here? You do know this is a gay bar, right?”  
  
“Didn't have anything else to do and it's where you said you'd be.” He shrugged. “Though, I guess we should've consulted you two before picking out costumes.”  
  
Rick hadn't even noticed the outfits Shane and Andrea were wearing, too drunk and dumbfounded that Shane would even show up to a place like this when he'd adamantly refused about a million times in the past. But now that Shane had pointed them out, all he could do was laugh.  
  
Shane had on a uniform identical to his own, and Andrea wore a black and white striped dress and a little silk mask. Two pairs of cops and robbers.

“I'm Andrea by the way,” she said, waving to everyone.

“Sorry, baby,” Shane said. “Shane in case anyone forgot. And this pretty lady is Andrea.”

“Who for some reason has decided she wants to date Shane,” Rick added. “Good luck to her.” 

Everyone said a warm hello, and Shane looked around the room for a chair to steal.  
  
“You can have ours if you're looking for a seat,” Aaron said, hopping up and taking Eric with him. He caught the other man before he could stumble into the table. “Hate to run when you just got here, but I think Eric's at his limit.”  
  
“I think you're right,” Eric said, wrapping his arms around Aaron until the two of them had practically molded together into one being. “It was good seeing you all. Including you Rick.”  
  
“Don't be a stranger,” Aaron said, clapping a hand on Rick's shoulder. “Don't forget we all know the truth too. You've got friends with all of us.”

“Thank you,” Rick said. “Hope to see everyone again real soon.”

The pair of them exited and Shane took the seat. Andrea sat down in his lap crossways, her legs hanging over the side of one of his thighs. 

“I think you'll have to go to the bar if you want a drink,” Rick said. “Tara stole our waitress.”

“We're good right now,” Shane said. 

“Speak for yourself,” Andrea said, hopping down. She walked up to the bar and came back with a large glass of something vaguely purple, settling back in Shane's lap and sipping it through the stir stick.  
  
“I still can't believe you came,” Rick said.  
  
“Haven't seen you much lately,” Shane said.

“I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you,” Andrea said. “I went through all the university by-laws. And I did everything I could with the paper.”

“It's alright,” Rick said. “Appreciate what you did do.” He absentmindedly stroked Daryl's hipbone with his thumb. He'd stopped rocking in his lap, and was chewing on his thumb. Rick was just about to ask him what he was thinking about when he said something. 

“You're a lawyer, right?” Daryl asked.

“I am,” she said.

“Can I ask you somethin?”

“Sure.”

“If I pressed charges against someone for, uh, assault I guess. Would they have to pay my hospital bills or...?”

“No,” she said. “But you can sue that person for them.”

“I can?”

“Yes. What happened? I'm guessing it has something to do with your crutches.”

Daryl looked down at the table, and Rick snaked his arms around him and rested his chin on the crook of his shoulder.   
  
“Dad beat the shit out of me. Lot more than just the leg. Can't hear out of this ear no more.” Daryl touched his right ear.  
  
“That's terrible,” she said. And she looked like she meant it.

“Just couldn't really afford the bills in the first place and now with everything, I figured...” 

“Don't feel guilty about something you couldn't help, Daryl,” Rick said. Sure, he was right, and having all the money back that he'd been paying out to the hospital would be fantastic, but he didn't need to feel like shit for something that wasn't his fault.

“If you want to take him to court, I'll gladly do it,” she said.

“What's your rate or whatever?”

“Don't worry about that,” she said. “I make plenty at the law school and from the other cases I work. I don't mind helping people. It's why I chose this career.”

“Alright, but if you ever have car trouble, you gotta talk to me first.” 

“Sounds like a deal,” she said, and then she toasted him and took another drink.

* * *

The night wore on. Buoyed by the idea of maybe making his dad pay for what he'd done, Daryl let himself sink further into Rick. Rick kept drinking, getting more and more handsy. And by the time the bar closed, they had no choice but to ask for a ride home.  
  
Andrea had only had one drink and Shane had approximately zero, so they decided to split up so Rick wouldn't have to go back for his car. Daryl rode with her in the Camry, and Rick rode with Shane.  
  
Being separated from the other man did nothing to cool Daryl off. Instead it seemed to have the opposite effect. All he could think about was what they could be doing if they were in the same vehicle. He could feel his erection pressing against his clothes. He knew it had to be noticeable from a mile away, but he couldn't will it away for anything, even as Andrea asked him for more details about his dad. And hell, if talking about the night he almost died couldn't kill his boner, what would?  
  
By the time they got home, Daryl was ready to fall out of the car directly onto Rick's cock.

“Thanks for driving my car home,” Rick said, taking his keys from Andrea. 

“You're welcome,” she said, and then she turned to Daryl. “Just come by my office when you get free time at school. My hours are posted online.”

He nodded at her and let Rick help him up out of the car, the intensity of the other man's grip not lost on him at all. Good. He was afraid Rick might pass out. But no, he was just as horny as he was. 

The older man barely waited for the tail lights of Shane's car to fade before spinning Daryl around and slamming him up against the car, grinding roughly against his ass.  
  
God, this was going to be good.  
  
“I told you I'd hunt you down, Dixon.”  
  
“Let go of me, you son of a bitch,” Daryl said, pushing back against Rick's crotch. “You've got the wrong man.”

“Do I?” He reached into Daryl's pocket and pulled out a wad of fake bills, shoving them in his face. “Then what's this?”

“Fuck you,” Daryl spat. 

“Little of the cash you took from the First National Bank, huh?”

“You don't know shit.”

“I know you're under arrest for at least twenty robberies across this great state.” Rick pulled the real handcuffs out of his belt, fumbling a little when they stuck in the flimsy plastic, and then he cuffed Daryl behind the back. They were cool and heavy on his wrists. His cock twitched. 

“C'mon,” Rick said. He spun him again and picked him up, flinging him over his shoulder like a toy before carrying him inside.  
  
“Listen, Officer,” Daryl said, changing his tone somewhere on the porch. He tried his best to hid the smile in his voice. “You let me go, and... and I'll give you half the money in my stash.”

“How about you tell me where your stash is and we'll talk about a reduced sentence?” 

“I can't go to prison,” Daryl said, listening to the tell-tale sound of Rick unlocking the front door. The animatronic jumping spider leaped out at them, and they both swore, so caught up their fantasy that they'd completely forgotten about it. Rick's keys tumbled to the ground.  
  
“See, you ain't meant to arrest me,” Daryl said, straining himself to keep from laughing. Rick squatted down with their combined weight and picked them up before getting them both inside. “Just let me go.”  
  
“You chose to take what doesn't belong to you. Now I'm takin you.”  

“I'll do anything you want. Please.”

“I bet you will.”

“I will. Anything at all.”

Rick set Daryl down in the hall, and pushed him back against the wall. Daryl could tell even that even though Rick was drunk and in the fantasy world, he was still acutely aware of whether or not Daryl was balanced, that he'd never let him fall or hurt him no matter how into things they were.  
  
“Do you really mean that?” Rick asked, his eyes dark in the moonlight. Daryl briefly wondered what had happened to his sunglasses, and then he realized that it didn't fucking matter. What mattered was that he looked dangerous and thrilling, and Daryl let a chill creep up his spine even though he knew it was unnecessary.  
  
“Mean what?” Daryl asked.

“That you'll do anything?”

Daryl looked at Rick, at the tight uniform pants hugging his thighs, at the belt slung across his hips. He nodded once.

“You're gonna regret that,” Rick threatened, and then he picked him up again and carried him to the bedroom. He turned on the light and Daryl winced a bit at the brightness before his eyes adjusted. 

“Hey, hey, wait a minute,” Daryl said, after Rick laid him down on the bed. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest that he was surprised his shirt wasn't thumping, and he could feel himself straining against his pants, begging for Rick to touch him. “This ain't what I meant.”

“Too late for that now, Daryl Dixon,” Rick said. “You said _anything_.” 

“You're sick.”  
  
Rick leaned down and grazed his teeth roughly across Daryl's neck. He couldn't help the moan that came out with it.  
  
“So are you,” Rick said, and then he rolled him over onto his stomach and yanked his pants down. Daryl knew what was coming before he even heard the night stand open. He rutted into the mattress with the anticipation of it. God, it had been so long.  
  
“Look at you,” Rick said. “Acting like you don't want this, rubbing your dick against my bed. You know... you've got a gorgeous little ass for a criminal.”

“Don't know what you're talkin about,” Daryl said. 

“Mhm,” Rick said. “I'm gonna let you go if you do what I want. But I can't just let a man like you get off without punishment. Do you understand?”

“Fuck you.”

Rick grabbed the back of his neck and pressed his face down into the mattress. 

“'Yes sir' or 'no sir', Dixon.”

“Yes sir,” Daryl growled.  
  
“Be as still as you can.”  
  
Daryl closed his eyes, panting with need. Please. Fuck, Rick. Please. He forced himself not to squirm with desire, waiting, waiting, waiting...  
  
The riding crop smacked across his ass with a little snap, and Daryl groaned.  
  
“How much do you think your deeds are worth, Dixon?” Rick asked. Daryl looked back at him, flicking the crop against his hand with tiny pops, his head tilted to the side. “How many do you think you deserve?”

“You're the one here who thinks I deserve to be punished. I was only doin what I had to.”

“Hmm,” Rick said, looking down at him thoughtfully. Daryl tried to get a better look at him, but he couldn't, not without being able to bend his knee. God, he wanted to see how fucking hard his lover was in those thin, black pants. Was he leaking? Was there a nice wet spot declaring how much he fucking wanted him?

“You robbed twenty banks that we know of,” Rick said. “One each oughtta do it.”

“Asshole.”

“I want you to count them off,” Rick said. “Start with nineteen.”

He brought the crop down on the opposite side of Daryl's ass, and Daryl jerked. 

“Nineteen,” he said with a grunt.  
  
Rick kept going, again and again. Sometimes they were little pops. Sometimes they were more.  
  
“Twelve,” Daryl practically yelled, his whole body jolting with the sting of it. “Fucking, shit, fuck.” He rutted into the mattress so hard that Rick grabbed him and rolled him back over.

“You keep fucking my bed like that, and I'll but the rest of them on your thighs,” he threatened. Daryl couldn't help the strained little squeak that escaped from his throat. 

“Do it,” he said.  
  
“You don't give the orders here,” Rick said, squinting down at him. But he brought the crop down on Daryl's left thigh anyway. His breath caught somewhere in his throat.  
  
“Fuck,” he said, the word barely audible.  
  
“Eleven,” Rick said, and Daryl repeated it.  
  
“God, look at that,” Rick said, running the end of the crop smoothly over his leaking erection. “That's gorgeous.”

Daryl had just enough time to groan at how unsatisfying that little bit of contact was before Rick popped another lick down on his thighs. 

“Ten,” he said, the word strangled and forced. More licks, one after the other, until Daryl could see his thighs were a mismatch of flesh and splotchy pink.  
  
“Two,” he choked out, so turned on that he could barely fucking breathe. His shoulders ached a bit from laying on his arms, but he didn't care. He wanted one more. He wanted one more and for Rick to pound into his ass until he came all over the bed.  
  
“C'mon,” Daryl said.  
  
Rick ran the crop over his mottled skin, and Daryl shook on the bed.  
  
“Please.”  
  
Another teasing brush of it against his cock, a circle around his balls, and then Rick gave him the last blow.  
  
“One.” Daryl almost felt like that was a release in itself, panting like he'd just cum. Rick knelt between his legs and leaned down, pressing kisses to the now-tender flesh.  
  
“You might just stay out of jail after all.”

“Need you.” 

“Oh do you now?” Rick asked. "Thought I was sick." 

“Please.” 

“Mhm.” Rick rolled him back over and pressed kisses to the globes of his ass, dipping between his thighs to suck on his balls. Daryl shuddered.   
  
“Officer, if you don't fuck me now, I ain't gonna have anything left in me to fuck.” Daryl squirmed. Needy. Wanting.

Rick chuckled softly and picked up the lube he must have dropped on the mattress. A pop and a squirt, and Daryl felt a wet finger press into him. Finally.   
  
“That leg of yours,” Rick said, pumping him with his finger. “Can it handle it like this?”  
  
“Long as you're careful.”  
  
Rick mm'd in response, fingering his asshole, seemingly missing every vital part of him on purpose. Daryl wriggled back against his hand.  
  
It didn't take long for Rick to open him up. They'd been screwing around all week now that they didn't have to have latex between them, so Daryl was pretty loose to begin with. That, and neither of them had the patience to take it any slower.

“Good enough,” Rick said. There was a pause where he seemed to be giving Daryl time to object, and then Daryl heard the sound of him undoing his costume belt and watched it fly by, hitting the wall under the window.  
  
A few agonizing seconds longer and Rick had his cock pressing into him, pushing, entering, filling him. Rick let out a groan that was almost inhuman, and Daryl looked back at him over his shoulder.  
  
“Do I feel good, Officer?”

“I've wanted to fuck you ever since I saw the wanted posters.”

“That right?”

“Those damn eyes.”

“Is it what you wanted it to be?”

“Better,” Rick said, already starting to roughly fuck his hole. Daryl pushed his face into the mattress and moaned, smearing the sheets with black makeup. 

“You're making a mess,” Rick said. And Daryl could hear the thinly veiled delight in his voice. “Look at yourself.” Rick grabbed his hair and turned his head toward the mirror on the wall. His black mask had become more of a black smudge across his eyes and the bridge of his nose, and there were stray streaks of makeup on his cheeks and forehead. All of this with his entire face coated in a sheen of sweat.  
  
“I look like hell.”  
  
“You look good and gorgeously fucked is what you look like.”  
  
“You love this, don't you?” Daryl grunted out.  
  
“Love what?”  
  
“Destroying things without actually breakin 'em.”  
  
“Yes.” Rick thrust into him hard, pushing his whole body into the mattress. The headboard of their bed smacked against the wall and his cock ground down into the pillow-top. Daryl whimpered in ecstasy.  
  
“Fucking hell, Rick.”  
  
“That's Officer Grimes to you,” he teased. And then he pulled out of Daryl and flipped him over onto his back. Daryl blinked a little sweat out of his and looked up at Rick, kneeling between his legs, his costume still on with his erection peeking out through his zipper and the flaps of his shirt. He grabbed Daryl's pants and underwear and tugged them the rest of the way off so he could grab his left leg and yank it around his waist, holding him steady and plunging back in.  
  
The handcuffs dug into Daryl's wrist and into his back, but Rick's furious assault on his prostate dulled the unpleasantness, wrapping it up in pleasure that budded and grew, threatening to burst and flood out of him at any minute.  
  
“You gonna turn away from your life of crime?” Rick asked, tugging Daryl violently into every thrust.  
  
“If I do, can I have you?” Daryl let his mouth hang open, a strangled moan escaping from his throat. Rick looked down at him, hungry eyes shifting into that lovely and blinding “something more.” He smiled.

“You can have everything.”

Daryl threw his head back and let go, his cock spurting out onto his stomach while he let out a string of curse words. Rick pulled out of him as soon as he was done. 

“Sit up for me,” Rick said, pulling him up.

Daryl was more than happy to take the pressure off of the handcuffs and his shoulders, letting Rick pull him up onto his ass. He looked over and found Rick up on his knees, his cock in his hand, tugging on it in long, steady strokes, thumbing over the head. 

Daryl watched while he caught his breath, his whole world focused on Rick's erection disappearing into the hole made by his palm and his fingers, on it reappearing red and aroused.  
  
“I'm going to cum on your face,” Rick said.  
  
Daryl thought about it. He wondered briefly why he didn't just fill him with it, why he didn't let him swallow it down, and then it dawned on him exactly why.  
  
“Filthy.”

“Shh,” Rick said, grabbing a handful of his hair and holding him steady. “Just close your eyes.” Daryl did. 

Daryl waited, listening to the slick sounds of Rick stroking himself vigorously, and then the other man let out a strangled groan, and Daryl felt the warm drops of cum landing on his skin—streaks of white on his black mask. Rick wiped a bead out of his eyes and he opened them to find the other man's staring down at him.  
  
“Gonna let me go now?” Daryl asked, exhausted. It had to be about three in the morning now. Maybe later, and with his arousal gone, all he wanted to do was curl up in their bed and sleep.

“Shh,” Rick said again, taking his chin in his hand and looking at him like he was his favorite piece of artwork in a museum, like he couldn't believe he was real. “Just a minute, sweetheart. Want to memorize this.”

Finally, he seemed satisfied and leaned down to give Daryl a kiss before rifling in the night stand for the keys to the cuffs. He found them and released them, taking each of Daryl's wrists in his hand and kissing them. Daryl fell back onto the pillows as soon as he was finished. 

“You look wrecked, darlin,” Rick said. “You wanna wash your face?”  
  
“Just wanna sleep.”

“Alright. I'll handle it.” He got up and disappeared into the bathroom before coming back with a warm cloth. Daryl started to take it from him, but Rick had already swiped it across his skin and taken his cum and half the makeup with it before he could tell his sleepy brain to move his arm.  
  
“That's a little better," the older man said. 

“Love you,” Daryl murmured, grabbing his duck from where it had laid abandoned near the head board. He squeezed it to him and waited for Rick's warmth against his side. 

“Happy Halloween, sugar,” Rick said, settling in and draping one of his arms across Daryl's stripe-clad chest. “Next year we're gonna be crayons though.”

In the morning, Daryl wasn't sure if he actually laughed at Rick's joke or if he only dreamed it. 


	38. Improvement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took me forever. I have good reasons for the lapse, but none of them are things I really want to talk about. 
> 
> On the plus side, this chapter is reaallllly long and a lot of that length is porn. So... welcome back?

For Daryl, Halloween felt like a small victory. He knew Rick was still struggling, but things had improved. And best of all, Daryl felt like he actually getting somewhere on his own road to recovery.  His leg brace was gone and replaced with something a lot more manageable, and he was pretty sure the wall in his head had started to crumble too. Or maybe he'd just gotten better at climbing it.   
  
Dr. Kemp had been assisting in that regard. She had switched his medication to something more affordable (he'd known he and Rick definitely didn't need that added expense on top of everything else they were going through), and she'd been helping him cope with everything that had happened since that night with his father, including Rick's dismissal.

He'd also been working with Andrea on his case, and she was planning on serving a summons any day now. Might be years before they ever got his dad to court, but at least the bastard would pay eventually. Things were definitely looking up. 

It was Thursday after his morning class, and Daryl was in the garage with Aaron, eying up a Mitsubishi Galant a physics professor had dropped off earlier that day.

“I want you to know the school isn't liable if you fall on your face,” Michonne said, standing off to the side with her hands on the hips of her jumpsuit.

“Noted, Professor,” Daryl said. He looked back at Aaron and nodded, and the other man wrapped his hands firmly around Daryl's waist.

There was an awkward little dance, Daryl hopping out into a more horizontal position on his good leg while Aaron helped lower him, grunting and laughing all the way down. Together, they got Daryl onto the creeper on his stomach. Aaron nearly fell on top of him, catching himself with one arm on the body of the Mitsubishi. More awkward fumbling and a few choice curse words grumbled under his breath, and Daryl managed to turn over onto his back with all the grace of a struggling turtle. He and Aaron both clapped and cheered.

“Call me when he has to get back up,” Michonne said. “That should be the good part.” And then she strolled off toward the office of the garage.

“Got no idea how good it feels to be back under here,” Daryl said. After what had felt like a century of sitting on a stool and handing Aaron tools, getting to stare up at the underbelly of an automobile practically made him giddy.

“Here you go,” Aaron said, handing him a bucket. Daryl took it. He was going to give this car a full tune-up (or at least the closest thing he could give it as a first year student). There was no way he was getting out from under the damn thing until he had to.

“Thanks for lettin me try this.”

“No problem. Been getting tired of doing all the heavy lifting around here anyhow.” Aaron passed him a rag. “How's Rick?”

“He'll get there,” Daryl said. “Think he'd come out of a lot of it if he could just find his footing again.”

“I'm sure he will. Luckily you know all about having to find your footing.”

Daryl scooted out from underneath the Galant.

“Was that a leg joke, Aaron?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” the older boy said, looking around the garage with a smirk in his eyes.

“Ass.” Daryl popped him on the calf with his rag, leaving another streak of oil on his the already muddied garage uniform. He slid back under the car and worked in silence for a while, enjoying the sounds of clinking metal and the whizzing noise of a quick tire change happening elsewhere in the garage.

“Can I ask your advice on something?” Aaron said after a while. 

“My advice?”  

“Yeah. I'm sure you've got some in you somewhere.”

“I guess,” Daryl said, wiping a bit of sweat off his brow. It took Aaron a moment to speak again.

“Thing is... I want to marry Eric.”

Daryl dropped the wrench in his hand, and it conked him right on the forehead before clattering onto the concrete. 

“Motherfucker!” he groaned.

“That wasn't really the reaction I was hoping for,” Aaron said. “Are you alright?”  

Daryl rubbed his forehead and picked the tool back up. 

“I'm good,” he said. “What did you want my advice on though?”

“Do you think I should ask him?”

“Do I think you should ask Eric to marry you?” Daryl asked, wiping a little splash of oil off on the leg of his uniform and rubbing the sore spot on his face again. Ow. 

“Yeah.”

“Well... you love him, right?”

“Of course.”

Daryl slid out from under the car and looked at the other man. 

“Guess is there a reason you think you shouldn't might be a better question.”  

“Just,” Aaron sighed and sat down on the stool that had been Daryl's perch up until that day. “Just what if he says no?”

Daryl scoffed. 

“Ain't no way he'll say no,” he said, awkwardly sitting up on the creeper and nearly tipping over to the side in the process. He wondered briefly if someday Rick might have this same conversation with Shane. 

“But what if he does?” Aaron asked, his forehead furrowed. 

“A wise man once told me all you can do is decide if somethin's worth the risk,” Daryl said, and a faint smile broke across Aaron's face. “Besides, even if he says no, ain't like he's gonna leave you. Nothin' to lose.”

“Thanks, Daryl,” Aaron said, nudging his good leg with his foot. “Now hurry it up under there. We've got to meet everyone for lunch.” 

* * *

For Rick, the vibrant energy of Halloween faded like an old photo, his world yellowing at the edges before slowly taking on the same dull tone it had held before. 

More days scratched off the little duck calendar—now featuring a duckling playing in a pile of vibrant fall leaves. More days fading into one another like some giant expanse of unfocused gray—a cloudy sky viewed through a raindrop. It was like nothing had changed at all except that now he was more conscious of when he was being an asshole to Daryl. At least he tried to make an effort to show him he still loved him. That was some kind of improvement. Right?

“Hey, pumpkin. When's the last time you showered?” Daryl asked. Rick looked up at him from the couch. He hadn't really registered the sound of Maggie's car or Daryl coming in, but there he was, standing at the end of the couch leaning on one of his crutches. Rick looked at the clock. She must have brought him home early.

“Yesterday. Maybe?” And Rick really did try to remember. Just there were no anchors in his timeline other than Daryl. What time had he driven him to class that day? Was that even really the time of his class or had he asked to go early to hang out in the garage or have breakfast with Maggie?

“C'mon, then. Get up. You got time before my appointment.”

“Appointment?” Rick looked at the calendar. Fuck, why was he so lost all the time? If he couldn't get a job, the least he could do was be less fucking useless. He squinted. There was a little scribble on the calendar on Thursday, but he couldn't make it out from the couch. That would explain Daryl coming home early though. Shit, he was supposed to pick him up. Shit, shit, shit.

“Got PT today. Might get this bum knee of mine up to a whole thirty degrees of rotation. Look out, world.”

“Fuck, I'm sorry, Daryl, I...”

“It's alright. Just take a shower. I'll find you somethin clean to wear.”

“Daryl...”

“It's okay, Rick. Really.”

“It's not okay. I'm failing you. I promised to support you unt-”

“Still love me?” Daryl asked, cutting him off.

“Of course.”

“Then you ain't failin nothin. Now get up.”

Rick slid off the couch and stood up, heading for the bathroom. Daryl stopped him with one hand before he could walk around him to the door. 

“I love you too. Just in case you needed a reminder.” He took Rick's chin in his fingers and gave him a quick little peck.  
  
“I'm trying. I'm trying so hard.”   
  
“I know you are.” Daryl ran his fingers through Rick's waves, and gave him a small smile. “We'll get there.”   
  
Rick nodded and headed for the shower. 

* * *

The physical therapy office was a wide-open space that made Daryl's skin crawl. There was one large room filled with beds and weights and exercise balls, and the whole thing left him feeling very exposed despite the fact that they were the only people there. Rick took one of the empty beds opposite of him and crawled up on it, his legs dangling over the sides.

Daryl had managed to find a pair of worn black jeans and a tight brown tee shirt for him to wear. He hadn't styled his hair beyond drying it, and it was a mess of loose waves. The whole picture had Daryl feeling a weird mix of cuddly and horny. 

“You look good like that.”

Rick looked down at himself. 

“Like this?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, you look good too.”

Daryl looked down. He had on the jeans that Maggie had bought him and stolen sweatshirt that he'd already somehow managed to get a grease stain on even with the mechanic's jumpsuit over the top of it.

“Wanna do it later?” Daryl raised one of his eyebrows and winked at his boyfriend. 

Rick laughed, the sound awkwardly filling up the empty office. 

“We'll see, darlin.”

“Give me a few more weeks of therapy, and then you're fuckin me on the hood of the Mustang.” 

“Demanding.”

“Ain't had a good doggie style in a while either,” Daryl said.

“Mhm. Your doctor's coming. Or therapist or whatever he is.”

Daryl turned around and looked at the man approaching from his private office in the back of the room.  He wore sleek black slacks and a white button-up shirt that seemed to be stretched precariously across his frame. He had dark hair and chocolate eyes, and while he was no Rick Grimes, he was certainly worth a double-take.   
  
“How are we today?” he asked with a smile.   
  
“We... I... um...” Daryl swallowed.

Across from him, Rick cleared his throat a little too loudly.

“I'm Caesar Martinez. I'll be working with you on your rehabilitation.”

“Daryl. Daryl Dixon.”

“And I'm Rick.”

“You his brother?” Caesar asked.

“I'm his boyfriend.”

“Pity.” He gave Daryl a once-over. “Anyway,” he said, clapping his hands together once, “let's have a look at that knee of yours.” Caesar squatted down right in front of him and started working his pants leg up. Daryl looked at Rick and let out a barely audible whimper.

The appointment took about an hour while Caesar walked Daryl through various exercises and explained some that he could do on his own between appointments, taking him through several step-by-step and making sure Daryl understood everything fully.

“And you'll want to gently apply weight like so,” he said, using his body to both support and coax the other man's into position for the final exercise. Daryl's breath hitched at the feeling of the other man's chest pressed against his back. He glanced over at his boyfriend, who sat there glaring daggers through both of them. Fucking hell.

“Think you got it, Mr. Dixon?” Caesar asked. “Trust me, I have no problem showing you again.”

A very teeny tiny part of Daryl wanted to say he could use another go, but Rick was right there and he shouldn't be enjoying this so much anyway. He had no intention of cheating on the other man, nor would he ever even want to. But that didn't stop the PT's lingering touches from making his skin feel a little too tight.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” God, he hoped Rick was up for something after this, because he sure as hell was.

“Alright, well I'll see you in a week then, Mr. Dixon.”

“Uh huh. See ya.”

They were barely in the car before Rick slammed his mouth into Daryl's, fingers curled tightly around the back of his neck, lips pressed against his own so hard that Daryl was sure the cold-chapped skin would split open.

“Fuck. Rick.”

“Sit on your hands.”

“What?”

“Sit on your hands," he said more firmly. "I'm going to tell you the whole way home what I'm going to do to you once we get there. And you're not going to touch a damn thing.”

“But that's a thirty minute drive, Rick,” Daryl said. “If there's no traffic.”

“And you know the safe word, sugar.” Rick tilted his head to the side and quirked one eyebrow. Daryl bit his lip and slowly slid his hands under his upper thighs.

“First thing I'm gonna do is tie you to the bed. Bind up your wrists and ankles with the leather cuffs. Spread you wide open for me.” Rick kept his eyes straight ahead on the road, not even glancing over at him while he talked.

There was silence, total silence save the gentle hum of the engine and the noise of the tires rolling across the highway. Daryl stared at Rick's mouth, waiting for his lips to move again, but they didn't. Time stretched on, the promise of being restrained rolling over and over in Daryl's head until he couldn't stand the quiet anymore. 

“And then?” he asked, wriggling his fingers under his thighs.   
  
Rick still didn't look at him.

“I'm going to blindfold you.”

“Yeah?” Daryl asked. 

“And I'm going to kiss and lick and bite every inch of your body. Well, almost every inch. I think I'll leave out a few in particular.”

“Rick...” Daryl swallowed.

“You're going to beg me for it, darlin. You're going to beg and beg until you can hardly stand how much you want me to touch you.”

“Please.”

Rick pulled up to a stoplight and immediately dropped his hand to his crotch, rutting against his palm, his deep moan filling the car. Daryl squirmed. 

“Oh sure,  _you_  can touch.”

“Can't sit on my hands, sweetheart. I'm driving.” For the first time since they left the parking lot of the physical therapy office, Rick looked at him, smirking and letting his eyes flutter shut as he rubbed his erection through his jeans.

It took a car honking behind them for Rick to notice the light had turned, and damn they were really making a habit of that. The Camry lurched forward. Forward into more silence that drove Daryl crazy with anticipation.

“That all you got?” Daryl asked. “Tyin me up and makin me beg you to touch me?”

“Oh, I have plenty for you, darlin.”

“Plenty like what? Gonna spank me?”

“God, sugar, you do love being spanked, don't you?”

“Maybe,” Daryl said. 

“I have other toys besides the crop, you know?”

“Seen that paddle in there, yeah.” 

“And the flogger? Maybe I'll give you all three today. Would you like that?” Rick asked, turning left onto their street. “Want me to spank you until your entire backside is nice and pink?”

Daryl couldn't get his mouth to work to respond. Instead he focused on the lone mailbox in the distance, the one Rick had added his name to with little black letter stickers shortly after he moved in. He watched it grow closer. 

“Have I ever told you how hot it is that you get off on it like you do?” Rick asked, accelerating a little to get them home faster. “Watching you grind down into the mattress, watching how hard you're breathing.”

“Please,” Daryl said softly, and he wasn't sure if he was begging Rick to stop torturing him or begging their house to move closer.

“Won't be the last time you say that today,” Rick said. “Not even close.”

Rick pulled into the driveway a moment later, and Daryl practically fell out of the car in his hurry to get to the house.

“Easy, little duck,” Rick said, already there to help steady him. “Want a ride?”

Daryl choked a little on his breath and looked down at Rick's obvious erection. A ride was exactly what he fucking wanted. And he knew Rick had meant to put that little edge of suggestion in his voice too. Ass.

“Yeah.”

Rick lofted Daryl up in his arms and carried him up to the house.

“You never got to the part where you fuck me,” Daryl said, unlocking the door since his boyfriend's hands were currently occupied with not dropping him onto the porch.

“I will,” Rick said. “But only when you think you might die from how much you need it.”

“Pretty sure that's right now.”

“You're gonna wish you were right.” Rick kicked the door closed with his foot and carried Daryl toward the bedroom.

Daryl expected Rick to bind him up as soon as possible, but instead Rick put him down and took a seat on the edge of the bed.   
  
“Strip for me, sweetheart.”

“What?” Daryl asked, balanced on his good leg.  

“Take your clothes off,” Rick said.

Hesitantly, Daryl grabbed hold of the bottom of his sweater, tugging it off. 

“Nuh uh, darlin. Slower.”

Daryl paused his motion, wobbling a little. He could still only bear so much weight on his other leg, and with his sweater half over his face, it was even harder to balance. But Rick was there with hands on his hips almost immediately. 

“Easy. Want to watch you strip at home, not in the ER.” He gave his sides a little rub and took his hands away once he was sure Daryl was steady again.

The younger man slowly pulled the sweater the rest of the way off his arms. 

“Like this?” he asked.

“That's perfect,” Rick said, sliding out of his jacket and tugging off the brown tee. “Keep going.”

“Ain't exactly sexy when I can barely stand,” Daryl said, putting one hand on the night stand and undoing his jeans with the other.

“Shh,” Rick said. “Think you would've learned by now that I find everything about you sexy.”

“Pfft. Whatever,” Daryl said, slowly pushing his jeans down his thighs. He stepped out of one leg, but he couldn't step out of the other, so he left it there, the denim pooled around his ankle. He met Rick's eyes and found him staring attentively. The older man flicked his eyes down to Daryl's underwear and gave him a little tilt of his head in encouragement.

“Nice and slow, sweetheart,” Rick said softly. He had his own jeans unbuttoned and pulled down to his mid-thighs, the outline of his erection visible through the tight fabric of his underwear. Daryl licked his lips and slipped his thumbs under the waistband, slowly pushing his boxer briefs down over his hip bones, revealing inch after inch of pale skin.

When he was just about to start pushing them past his cock, Rick snaked his hand into the slit of his own underwear and gave himself a slow stroke. 

“Enjoyin yourself, cupcake?”

“You have no idea,” he said before letting out a tiny groan. “Keep going. Show me how much you want that spanking.”

Daryl went ahead and pushed his waistband down, reveling in the way the pressure of it slid over the sensitive skin of his erection. He let out a short little mm in the back of his throat. Rick flicked his eyes up to his and deliberately gave himself a long, slow stroke.

Daryl kept going until his underwear joined his jeans on the floor, and he stood there in front of Rick, naked save his knee brace.

Rick stood up and stepped out of the black jeans before helping Daryl onto the bed on his stomach. Then, true to his word, he dug the leather cuffs out of the night stand and bound all four of his limbs, forcing Daryl to splay out on the bed. 

The blindfold came next, a strip of black silk tied over Daryl's eyes. Something about it made anticipation tingle through his veins. He couldn't see which toy Rick had grabbed. He had no idea what was coming. 

He felt Rick's breath ghost across his left ear before the other man even spoke. He shivered.

“Pick a hand, darlin.”

Daryl's breath caught a little on the way in. He might not have any idea what the fuck Rick had in his hands, but in some small way he got to choose his fate. And the idea of that was endlessly tantalizing. 

“Left.”

“Good choice,” he said, and Daryl could faintly hear him setting something else back in the drawer. He bit his lip and waited.

And waited.

Right when he was about to open his mouth, he felt Rick bring something down on his back. A dozen pinpricks of delicious pain painted themselves across his skin. He twitched and squirmed.

The flogger. It had to be.

There was a small pause, and then Daryl felt it come down again, hitting the exact same spot with perfect accuracy, escalating the sting. He moaned and rutted down into the mattress.

“Fuck.”

“Think you might like this one better than the crop.” Without waiting for a response, Rick struck him again. A low moan eased out between Daryl's lips.

Rick struck him once more, and then he felt the little strips of leather gently dragging across his twinging skin. It found its way down his body, tickling the crease of his ass, and then it was gone. 

But not for long. Rick brought down on another spot on his back. In response, Daryl grabbed at the sheets, fisting handfuls of them between white-knuckled fingers. Rick kept going, repeating his actions over and over until Daryl could feel tears leaking out of his eyes and soaking into the blindfold.  
  
He let out an involuntary sob of pain even while he pushed his cock deeper into the bed.

“You'd use that safe word if you needed it, wouldn't you?” Rick asked sincerely.  

“Yes.”

“You promise?”

“Promise. Please don't stop,” Daryl said. “Unless you're stopping to fuck me, I don't want you to.”

“Your back is a nice pretty pink right now.  You should see how beautiful it looks.”

“Well, I'd love to, but somebody blindfolded me.” 

Rick gave him an open-handed pop on the ass. “Smartass.”

“You're right, by the way.”

“About?” 

“I like that better than the crop.”

“You are a perfect little masochist, Daryl Dixon.”

“Lucky you.”

“You have no idea,” Rick said. And he landed another blow on the latest little patch of skin he'd chosen to target. There was a pause for the leather to run across his skin again. And then a few more pops, each one building in intensity. And before Daryl realized it was coming, before he could even think about stopping himself, he came right into the sheets, a moan tearing its way out of his throat.

“Shit. Fuck!” He tried to squirm out of the mess, but he couldn't move. “I didn't mean to.”

“Didn't mean to what?” Rick asked.

“I...”

“Did you just cum into our mattress, Daryl?” Rick asked.

“I'm sorry.”

Rick laughed softly.

“You're too perfect.”

“I'm so sorry.” Daryl buried his face in the pillow, hoping to hide the pink burning his cheeks.

He felt Rick's breath on his ear again.

“Do you have any idea how hot it is knowing I can make you cum like that?”

“Stop,” Daryl said, the sound muffled.

“No, I think I'll keep going,” Rick said. “You're eighteen. Won't take you long.”

There was more rustling from the night stand beside him, followed by the sound of crinkling plastic. Daryl's brows knitted together under the blindfold. They were done with condoms. What exactly was Rick doing?

“I have a question for you, sweetheart.”

“Mhm?”

“You've been with a few men other than me, right?”

“A few.”

“Any of them ever lick your asshole?”

Daryl looked back over his shoulder even though it was pointless. He couldn't see anything but black save the little chinks of light leaking in around the edges. 

“What?”

Rick answered the question by pulling Daryl's ass apart and stretching what felt like a sheet rubber across his entrance. 

He'd heard about rimming before. Saw it porn. Had guys ask him to do it on them, always refused because who wants to put their tongue  _there_ anyway? All kinds of bacteria and parasites to worry about on top of being gross.  
  
But Rick was Rick, which meant safety first always.   
  
Daryl waited, trying to imagine how it might feel compared to all the teasing fingertips he'd ever used or had used on him. The anticipation of it had him already growing hard again, his erection wedged firmly between his pelvis and the mattress.   
  
“Relax,” Rick said, nuzzling his nose into the little dimples of Daryl's lower back. Daryl did his best, trying to force the tension of expectation out of his limbs. He went as limp as possible, though he could still feel the tightness lingering in his shoulders.   
  
It didn't last long though. At the first movement of Rick's tongue against him, he melted, sighing out against the pillow case.

“There you go, little duck. Just let me make you feel good.” The older man swirled his tongue around in circles, moving it around the ring of muscles over and over before flattening his tongue and lapping at his entire hole.

Daryl squirmed. It definitely felt different than touching himself, and Rick seemed like an expert. Then again, when didn't he seem like one of those?

“How are we doing?” Rick asked.

“Feels so good.”

“Not what I meant.” Rick leaned down and gave him a few more flicks of his tongue.

“Hmm?”

“How's your cock? Nice and hard again?”

“Mhm.”

“Good,” Rick said. And then he plunged his face back into Daryl's ass. He could feel the scruff of the other man's beard brushing against his cheeks while he continued working him over with his mouth, pushing into his hole before following it up with more swirls and licks. 

“Please,” Daryl said, pushing back against Rick's face. “Need you.”

“Mhm,” Rick said. Without warning he dipped his face down and gave his boyfriend's balls a teasing little lick with his tongue. Daryl whimpered.  

“Rick.”

“Mhm?” Another teasing flick. 

“Fucking...”

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

“You.”

“You're gonna have to be a lot more specific. And we both know you can be.” Rick swirled his tongue back around the rim of Daryl's ass.

“Want you to fuck me. Want your cock as deep in my ass as you can fit it. Want you to spank me or flog me some more.”

“That's better,” Rick said, and then his mouth and whatever he'd been using for protection were gone. Daryl heard him rooting around in the night stand again and prayed he was getting lube. He heard a bottle pop open followed by a squirt and he groaned softly.

“Don't get too excited,” Rick said. “I'm not fucking you yet.”

Daryl let out a different kind of groan. 

“I already told you, sugar. I'm going to push you to the limits of how much you can need it before I give it to you.”

“What are you lubin' up over there then?”

Daryl felt the bed dip, and then Rick pulled his ass apart again, pressing something against his hole. Hard and plastic and vaguely warm from Rick's hands. Daryl squirmed back against it, willing to take anything he could get at that point.

“Don't hurt yourself,” Rick said with an air of amusement. 

“What is it?”

“A plug,” Rick said. “Clear plastic.”

“You're a dirty old man,” Daryl said, already biting his lip at the stretch and praying the thing would go deep enough to give him some kind of sensation where he needed it.

“A dirty old man you want as deep in your ass as he can fit. Isn't that what you said, sugar?”

“Yeah, so stop playin around and get in there.” Daryl pushed back against the plug harder.

“Have I mentioned lately that I love you?” Rick added a little more pressure on the toy, and it slid in past the ring of muscles until it was snug in place. Daryl squirmed, trying to get it to brush against his prostate, but it didn't quite reach. He wiggled more, whimpering softly. 

“Why?” he whined. 

“Somethin wrong?” Rick asked, gently playing with the end of the toy, enough to give Daryl the feeling of movement but nothing more.

“Could've at least given me a bigger one, you dick.”

“I could've.”

“Ass.”

“I'm going to take the cuffs off,” Rick said. “And then I'm going to help you turn over nice and slow.”

“And then? Rick please.”

“I told you in the car, darlin.” Rick undid the leather binding up his ankles and then started on his wrists. “I'm going to kiss and lick every inch of you.”

“You're goin a little out of order,” Daryl said.

“Still counts.” Rick helped him roll over onto his back and then he cuffed his wrists up again, leaving his ankles free. He pushed Daryl's thighs apart and slid between them, running his hands down the younger man's chest and stomach. There was a short pause where Daryl wondered where he would start, and then he felt Rick's torso press against his own before the former professor captured his mouth in a kiss.

Daryl moaned into his boyfriend's mouth and pushed his hips up, trying to grind against the other man's body.

“I should make you stop that,” Rick said, but instead he pushed his hips down, moaning softly and resting his forehead against his lover's. 

“You could just admit you want it as bad as I do and stop torturing us both,” Daryl said, panting quietly at the feeling of Rick's underwear rubbing against his bare skin.

“Trying to teach you the value of building up to it.”

“Says the man grinding his crotch against mine.”

“Wanna know something?” Rick asked, pulling his hips away from Daryl's and starting a series of languid kisses down his bicep before licking and nibbling on the crook of his elbow.

“Depends on what it is.”

“I never had such a hard time waiting before you.”

“Then don't. Ya don't gotta.”

“Shh.” Rick re-positioned, grazing his teeth across the skin of Daryl's collarbone.

“Would feel so good, Rick. A nice, warm ass. All tight around you.” Daryl spread his legs wider, opening himself up. “You know you wanna.”

“I do and it would,” Rick said, kissing down Daryl's chest and taking one his nipples between his teeth, flicking his tongue at the little pink nub.

“Ah fuck.” Daryl's chest arched up toward Rick's mouth. “Fucking please, damn't.” The remnants of his accidental orgasm had long-faded, as had the momentary relief of their little grinding session. He was fully and completely on edge again, desperately hard and leaking and needy beyond comprehension.

Rick kept moving down his chest, pausing to swirl his tongue around Daryl's navel.

“Rick, I'm begging. That's what you wanted right? For me to beg?”

“Maybe,” the older man said, still moving his kisses lower. Daryl trembled with the anticipation of maybe, just maybe feeling his mouth on him. But Rick stopped short, lifting up and blowing a stream of cool air across his most sensitive flesh. Goddamn fucking tease. 

“Rick. Honey. Cupcake. Chocolate chip.”

Rick chuckled.

“Say it one more time for me." 

Daryl didn't even have to ask what he meant. He already knew what the gorgeous bastard wanted. 

“Please.”

He felt Rick reach for the end of the plug, grasping it with his fingers and slowly tugging it out, fucking him a little with it before completely pulling it loose and letting it drop to the floor of their bedroom with a little thump.

Daryl heard another squirt of lube, and then he felt Rick pressing against him, easing his way inside. Daryl sighed in relief.

“Finally.”

“Mhm.” Rick pulled out and plunged back in, grabbing hold of Daryl's thighs to angle his body a little better. “Gonna fuck you raw, sugar.”

“You better after all that.”

“You know I'm a man of my word.”

“Then start fucking me. Make sure I'm still feelin it a week from now.”

“Anything you want.” Rick dug his hands into the skin of Daryl's hips and started building pace until he hit a rhythm that could only be described as “relentless.”

Daryl could barely function, his breaths coming in little whimpery huffs through his nose while Rick pounded away, each thrust perfectly aligned. And there was no way Daryl was going to last long. Not with all the teasing. He was too on edge. Too ready. He wrapped his fingers around the chains of his restraints and let his toes curl inward.

“Rick, I'm not... not gonna... “

“Didn't figure you would, darlin,” he said, reaching down and taking Daryl in his fist, pumping him with every thrust. “Go on.”

It seemed to take forever, but it had to be mere seconds before Daryl opened his mouth, his moan almost too loud in his ear. He let go, feeling warm drops of his cum painting his stomach. Rick paused just long enough to streak his hand through it and rub it into Daryl's skin. And then he started back, the feeling of him ramming into his prostate enough to make Daryl spit out a stream of hoarse swears.

“Just a second, sweetheart. Just hold on for me.” More thrusts that made him sob in pleasurable agony, and then Rick growled in the back of his throat and started filling him with his own release, fingers digging into his hips while his cock spasmed inside of him.  

The older man caught his breath a bit before pulling out, and Daryl could feel the cum seeping out of his body and running down his ass. Rick kissed back up his torso and planted his lips on him. 

“You look so gorgeous right now.”

“Bet you do too,” Daryl said. Rick laughed softly and pulled the blindfold free before starting on the cuffs around Daryl's wrists.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Do I look gorgeous too?”

Daryl popped him on the arm and reached up, running two sets of fingers through Rick's sweat-soaked curls. 

“Extremely.”

“Good,” Rick said, kissing him again before rolling over beside him, gently coaxing Daryl's head onto the crook of his arm. 

They laid there for a while, still and quiet while Rick lightly thumbed the skin of his arm, and Daryl would've been content to lay there in silence for the rest of the day, dinner be damned.

But his phone dinged loudly somewhere in the room, and seeing as all of about ten people had his phone number, he couldn't just let it be. Rick wriggled out from underneath him and fetched it for him from the pocket it of his jeans.   
  
“Maggie?” he asked, crawling back onto the bed.   
  
“Andrea,” he said, reading the message on his tiny flip phone screen. He hadn't asked Rick for a new phone when they'd switched the billing information on the account. Having the payments to deal with was enough. Especially now.

“What's she saying?”

“It's done. Summons was sent.”

“I'm proud of you,” Rick said, kissing him on the temple. “Know it wasn't easy to do that.”

“Is it weird I feel a little guilty?”

“Don't think so,” Rick said. “He's your dad. Natural to feel guilty about something like that even if you're right for doing it.”

“Yeah,” Daryl said, nodding. “Just wish it didn't have to be this way. Wish he'd been... however dads are sposed to be.”

“Me too,” Rick said. “But it's not your fault that it went how it went, sweetheart.” He reached over and smoothed Daryl's hair back with his hand. “He's the one who fucked it all up.”

Daryl shifted back onto Rick and pulled his arm back around him, twining their fingers together. 

“You know, Aaron asked me earlier if I thought he should propose to Eric.”

“Did he now?” Rick asked.

“Just got me wondering.” Daryl chewed on his lip. "Thinkin bout stuff." 

“I'd marry you in a heartbeat, Daryl Dixon. Got no intention of ever letting you go anyway.”

Daryl turned look at him and found his blue eyes looking back, piercing and serious.

“Good to know.” He squeezed Rick's hand and let his eyes close, slowly drifting into a lazy post-sex nap on the gentle waves of the other man's breathing. Yes, his world was definitely improving. 


	39. Laughter

Three weeks after Halloween, and Daryl couldn't remember the last time he'd heard Rick laugh. The other man was definitely doing way better compared to how he had been. He'd been doing his laundry again, had started showering (mostly) regularly, and was even regaining some of his former friskiness. But it was bothering Daryl how little Rick smiled, how he had started to forget the exact tones of Rick's low chuckle, or that higher-pitched giggle the other man would lose himself in when something was funny beyond his self-control.

“Rick,” Daryl said, looking at him over the dining room table and a stack of chocolate-chip pancakes. Somewhere along the way, pancakes had become a Sunday morning tradition for the two of them. Always made by Daryl since Rick still somehow managed to screw up just about anything that wasn't brownies. Always incorporating chocolate.

“Hmm?”

“Why did the chicken cross the road?”

“Why, darlin?”

“Because chickens are really really dumb.”

Rick let out a little puff of air through his nose and shook his head before taking another bite of his own pancakes.

“So a priest, a farmer, and an accountant walk into a bar...” Daryl said.

Rick looked up at him again, raising an eyebrow while he chewed his food.

“You think one of 'em would've seen it or somethin.”

Rick cringed playfully and swallowed.

“You okay this morning, sugar?”

“Yeah, I'm alright.” Daryl shoved his last bite into his mouth and hopped up, using one crutch to take a bit of the weight off his knee while he hobbled over to the sink. His doctor and his physical therapist had both assured him that he'd be walking on his own again by Christmas, maybe a little stiff, but walking just the same. It couldn't come soon enough.

Halfway through rinsing the syrup off his dish, Daryl felt Rick's hands snake around his waist, his nose nuzzling against his neck.

“What's wrong, sweetheart?” Rick asked, kissing the space under his ear, his beard tickling the skin there. “Have I been neglecting you again?”

“Nah,” Daryl said, closing his eyes and leaning back into Rick. “It ain't that.”

“Somethin goin on? Friends? Trouble in class?”

“Just... Just ain't heard you laugh in a while is all. Thought I'd try.”

“Mmm. Maybe don't try so hard.” Rick squeezed him and nuzzled into his neck some more. “You smell good.”

“Mhm.”

“Like motor oil and breakfast.” He ran his hands down Daryl's sides and pushed Daryl's hips into the sink with his own.

“Nuh uh,” Daryl said. “We can't.”

“Says who?” Rick asked, slowly grinding against Daryl's ass.

“Me. We gotta go shopping. Told Maggie we'd bring chocolate pecan pie and a pumpkin one to Thanksgiving Thursday.”

“We've got all day to go shopping, pumpkin pie.”

“Nuh uh,” Daryl repeated. “You got all day. I got a test tomorrow.”

Rick sighed.

“I'll make it quick and filthy. In and out. Right here bent over the counter. Ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes? Rick, you can't even finish your damn foreplay in ten minutes, ya dirty old man.”

“Let's time it,” Rick said, dropping his voice low, and damn't if that tone still didn't send tingles up Daryl's body. The gorgeous bastard. “I don't finish in ten minutes, I'll wake you up in the morning with my lips around your cock.”  
  
Daryl considered it. He knew damn well that it'd be more than ten minutes no matter how quick Rick took him. But his cock had a funny way of clouding his judgment, especially where Rick Grimes was concerned. Damn't.

“And you'll help me study for my test since you're a horn dog who can't keep his damn hands to his self.”

Rick chuckled softly. “See, I told you not to try.”

“Deal?” Daryl asked.

“I would've helped you study anyway if you'd asked, but deal.”

Daryl reached over and hit the kitchen timer button on the microwave, setting it for 10 minutes exactly.

“You got til it beeps.”

“Wait, wait,” Rick said, and Daryl paused with his finger over the start button. “Just so we're clear, ten minutes for you to finish, or for the both of us?”

“Both.”

“Okay," Rick said, doing a tiny little bounce from foot-to-foot like he was trying to pump himself up. "Okay, go.”

As soon as the tiny beep signaled that he had hit the start button, Rick curled his fingers over the waist band of Daryl's pajama pants and ripped them down his legs. Another swish of fabric, and Daryl felt Rick's warm skin pressing against his own, followed by the distinct feeling of Rick's growing erection rubbing into the space between his cheeks.

“How many minutes for foreplay do you think? One? Two?” Rick asked, slowly grinding his cock up and down Daryl's crease.

“Better stop fooling around if you don't wanna lose that bet, old man.”

“Wouldn't be so bad,” Rick said, licking his palm and reaching around to grab hold of Daryl and stroke him in long pulls. “I like the way you taste.”

“Mhm,” Daryl said, biting his lip at the feeling of Rick's hand dragging down his length.

“Don't you like cumming in my mouth, sugar?”

“Got nine minutes left, sunshine.”

“Do I get to pause to grab lube?”

“Nuh uh,” Daryl said, rolling his hips into Rick's hand. “You said ten minutes. You got ten minutes. Better haul ass to the bedroom, Speed Racer.”

“Fine,” Rick said, letting go of Daryl's cock. He roughly took hold of the other man's wrists and pulled his hands up, forcing them palms-down onto the counter top. “These better not move from this spot until I get back.”  

“Don't know if you got time for threats right now,” Daryl teased, but he kept his palms on the counter, listening to the muted thumps of Rick's feet as he sprinted to the bedroom, followed by the violent sound of a wooden drawer being ripped completely out of the night stand. Then more muted thumps until Rick was back, nudging his thighs apart with his knee before he'd even said a word.

“You half naked with your hands on the counter like that is the best damn thing I've ever seen in this kitchen,” Rick said, already pushing into him with a lubed up finger. “And there have been a lot of brownies in here.”

Daryl snorted.

“Now who's making shitty jokes?”

“Anyone ever tell you how gorgeous you are?”

“Yeah, you.”

“Such a tight, hungry ass too,” Rick said quietly, plunging another finger in and massaging both digits firmly over Daryl's prostate, circling them and building pressure.

“Shit,” Daryl said, moaning low.  
  
“Best sound in the world.”

“Filthy bastard.”

“You love it.”

“I might.” Daryl glanced over at the microwave. “Five minutes and ten, nine seconds.”

“All I need,” Rick said, using his fingers to stretch his hole a little before pulling them out. He put one hand on Daryl's back and forced him to bend further over the counter. “Think you can take a pounding this morning?”

“Always been able to take everything you give me,” Daryl said, his hands curling into fists at the feeling of Rick easing inside of him and stretching him open with his cock.

“Yes you have, darlin,” Rick said, holding his hips still and waiting for Daryl's body to adjust.

Daryl watched the clock on the microwave count down. Four minutes, twenty seconds. Four fifteen. Four ten. At one second past four, Rick eased out and thrust back in, slamming Daryl's hips into the counter top so hard that the drawer in front of him rattled against its frame.

“Fuck, Rick.” Daryl looked back at him, the older man's pupils blown wide, his eyes fierce with determination. Rick dug his fingers into the flesh of Daryl's waist, so hard that Daryl knew his knuckles had to be white.

“Love you,” Rick mumbled, and then he started thrusting, quickly building a pace that sent the plates in the nearby cabinets clinking. And his aim was as true as an Olympic marksman, driving home every single time with relentless fervor.

Daryl's bottom jaw slacked open, his eyes losing focus, lids fluttering. He tried to grab hold of the counter, but his fingers slid across the dark granite before curling in on his palms, short nails digging into the skin there. He groaned.

“That's it, sweetheart. Let's repaint these cabinets, huh?”

“Always hated this baby-shit brown anyway,” Daryl managed to say through his teeth. Rick laughed, really laughed, the older man nearly choking on each labored breath he sucked in around his “ha”s.

“Well come on then, little duck,” he said, reaching around and taking Daryl's hardness in his hand. “You have sixty seconds.”

Daryl looked over at the clock, somehow making out the numbers between Rick's frenzied actions and the insistence of his eyes on trying to roll back into his head. Fifty-five.

“Say something,” Daryl said.

“Something like?” Rick panted.

“Some filthy shit that only you could come up with.”

“Putting me on the spot a little, aren't you, sugar?”

“C'mon. Know you got somethin. You were probably already thinki-”

The microwave let out five short little beeps, and Daryl let out a strained chuckle.

“You lose, sucker.”

“Still gonna fill up that tight little asshole with cum though,” Rick said, pumping Daryl in time with each brutal thrust. “Gonna watch it drip out onto the tile when I'm done.”

“Jesus Christ,” Daryl said, the words high-pitched and strangled. He felt Rick lean forward, felt his lips brush against his left ear lobe. When the older man opened his mouth, his voice was low and breathy.

“But I'm not gonna do it until you cum, until you splatter it all over the kitchen.”

“Gonna,” Daryl breathed, his hands reaching out for something to hold onto again. He managed to find the side of the sink, tightly gripping the curved stainless steel.

“You're gonna make such a lovely breakfast, Daryl.”

“Ah, fuck,” Daryl said, and then he came, a groan ripping out of his lungs while he streaked his orgasm onto the kitchen cabinets. Their own little nasty piece of abstract art.

“Perfect,” Rick said, nipping at the back of his neck. “Always so fucking perfect.”

“Your turn, old man,” he panted. “Somethin bout fillin up my asshole.”

“That what you want, darlin?”

“Like it.”

“Do you now?” Rick asked. “And what do you like?”

“Like knowin you did it in me,” Daryl said. “Like the way it feels runnin out.”

“Shit, sugar,” Rick said, huffing the words out more than speaking them. “And you said I was good at filthy talk.”

“You gonna do it?” Daryl asked, blinking away sweat while his body trembled from over-stimulation. “Gonna give me what we both want?”

“Look at me.”

Daryl obeyed, whipping his head back over his shoulder and flinging sweat in the process. Rick took one hand off his hips and reached forward, grabbing the younger man's chin and holding his gaze.

“That's it, sweetheart. That's it.” Rick's face steadily tensed more and more. Daryl watched as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, his brows moving closer together, creasing his forehead. “That's fucking it.” One moment of intense silence where Rick clearly had to force his eyes to stay open on matching blues, and then his jaw gaped wide, releasing a gruff moan from somewhere deep in his chest while his orgasm spurted into Daryl's willing ass.

The older man paused for a moment, clearly awash in the euphoria of it, and then he pulled out, letting his cum follow. Daryl felt it ooze out before it dripped down, gathering in a crease of the flannel pooled around his ankles.

“Beautiful,” Rick said, gathering the rest of the trail on his fingers and pushing it back into Daryl's body, lazily fingering the younger man's fucked-loose hole.

“You gonna kiss me now or what?” Daryl asked.

“I don't know about that,” Rick said, gently helping him step out of his soiled pants and pivot around. “Do we have time?”

“Fuck you, c'mere.” Daryl took Rick by the chin and pulled his mouth to his, mming softly at the coarse beard hair grazing his skin, at the tender way that Rick managed to kiss him even while they both stood half-naked and sweaty in the kitchen. Daryl ended the kiss with a couple sloppy pecks, and then he grabbed his crutch and started for the door.

“Can you pick those up for me?” he asked, glancing back at the pile of plaid on the tile.

“Mhm.”

“Oh, and Rick...”

“Yes, sugar?” he asked, tugging up his own pajama pants.

“Don't forget to wake me up early tomorrow so you have time to pay out that bet.”

Rick smirked.

“Now get dressed, ya filthy old asshole. We got shit to do.”

Rick's quiet laughter followed him out of the kitchen.


	40. It'll All Be Okay

Daryl had never been Thanksgiving shopping before. His mother was always responsible for that bit of holiday prep growing up. Every year since he could remember, his dad had dragged him and Merle to the plant for the company dinner, while his mom stayed home and made pie after pie. After she died, he'd offered to take up her job, but his dad had been insistent on having his boys with him. That, and he wasn't too keen on his boy staying home to play Suzie Homemaker. Homemade pies turned into packages of store bought Hawaiian rolls, and that was that.

“This is insane,” Daryl said on their third lap around the parking lot. There wasn't a spot anywhere within a mile of the doors, and even his temporary handicap placard couldn't help them.

“Don't reckon we're getting any closer, sweetheart,” Rick said, sliding the Camry in-between two unnecessarily large pickup trucks. A sign on a light post nearby told them they were two rows past 40.

Daryl slid out of the car and pulled himself up on one crutch. He had developed a pretty solid system when it came to walking these days. One step with his good leg. One step with his bad one, balancing the weight between his knee and the crutch. It wasn't graceful, but it was a hell of a lot better than relying solely on crutches and a small prayer that no one had mopped the floor recently.

“You want a ride, sugar?” Rick asked.

“Rick, I know you ain't tryin to get frisky with me in the middle of a Target parking lot.”

“Maybe I am.” Rick stopped at the nearest cart return, leaning forward and putting his hands on the railing. “Get on.”

“Are you serious?”

“Guess you can let me stand here looking like an idiot instead.”

“Don't really need my help for that,” Daryl teased, already leaning his crutch against the rails.

It was an awkward mounting, him trying to hop up on one foot while Rick caught his thighs, but they made it on the third try, Daryl's legs catching on the sight protrusion of Rick's hips. He tightened them around Rick's waist.

“Giddy up, old man.”

Rick half-walked, half-jogged to the front doors of the store with Daryl bouncing on his back, the younger man's arms wrapped around his chest, crutch gripped in one hand and rattling with every step. The former professor had to stop twice to adjust Daryl's position on his back, and once more when he very nearly dropped his lover on his ass. But they made it into the store eventually, crossing the threshold in a fit of giggles.

“Fuck,” Daryl said as he slid off. They nailed the dismount about as well as they nailed the rest of it, and he fell off Rick more than he climbed, doing a little hop-stumble that he was sure was going to lead to him tumbling into a group of abandoned shopping carts. But Rick was there almost immediately, the older man wrapping his arms around him and holding him tight.

“I have you." And Rick didn't let go until Daryl found his balance.

“Shit,” Daryl said. But it wasn't because of the piggyback ride or because he'd nearly stacked it. It was because he'd looked up, his eyes taking in the wall-to-wall circus of bullshit that was the grocery store the Sunday before Thanksgiving.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

“It always like this?” Daryl asked, watching as people moved in every direction, running into and pushing around each other at every turn. It was like the dance floor at Bounce on a Friday night warped into some sick, twisted nightmare.

“Before a holiday? Complete clusterfuck.”

Great.

“Better get it over with then,” Daryl said. He pulled a list out of his pocket and glanced over it, trying to come up with a plan of attack while Rick looked for an electric cart. The older man found nothing.

“Sorry, darlin.”

“It's alright,” Daryl said, hobbling up beside a red shopping cart. “No more than what I walk to class.”

Rick nodded and started pushing the card toward the big red sign that said “Grocery.” They made it all of about two steps before someone whizzed around them without so much as an “excuse me” forcing both men stop short to avoid slamming into them. Daryl snatched at the side of the cart to keep the momentum from taking him to the floor.

How many damn times was he going to nearly fall that day before he succeeded in busting his ass?

“Asshole,” Rick said, low enough so that only they could hear. And the two men started forward again. Five steps before they had to stop that time. And so it went the whole way through. Like driving in rush hour traffic. Stop, go, stop, go. Stop and wish you could repeatedly ram your shopping cart into someone's shins. Daryl white-knuckled the side of the shopping cart, stressed the fuck out and afraid to let go of it for too long lest someone run into them for the 1200th time.

“Fuck,” Daryl said, muttering it aloud but screaming it in his head. He finally managed to get close enough to grab two cans of pumpkin puree, but before he could deposit them into their cart, a woman's impatient hand (couldn't she wait a whole goddamn 30 seconds?) bumped his arm. The cans fell to the floor and scattered, one wedging under the lip of the opposite shelf, the other rolling until he could no longer see it for the throng of people on the baking aisle, most of whom were now looking in his direction, probably thinking about what kind of idiot couldn't hold onto two little cans. Daryl put his head down, his cheeks and ears growing hot. He wiped his palms on his jeans.

No. No, not this.

“Fuck,” he said again, a little louder that time. The woman made a noise in disapproval that he barely registered. The lines of the linoleum tile tilted a little. Too many people. Too many.

Oh God.

“I got 'em, sugar,” Rick said. Daryl watched his boots move out of view right around the time his hands started trembling.

“Rick,” he said weakly, the air catching in his lungs. “Rick, I...” And suddenly he couldn't catch his breath again for the life of him. His chest started heaving. He gripped the side of the cart, looking down through the honeycombed plastic on the bottom without really seeing anything. The world blurred.

“Daryl,” Rick said, urgency in his voice. “Damn't, get the hell out of the way.”

Hands on him. Hands on his cheeks. Lips brushing his good ear.

“In through your nose, darlin. Close your eyes. Match my breathing.” Rick took calm, purposefully audible breaths. Daryl tried his best to meet them, shutting his eyes and focusing only on harmonizing with the sound of air entering and leaving his lover's body.

“There you go, Daryl. You're doing so good. Just keep breathing. That's it.”

A hand gently rubbing circles on his back. His heartbeat slowed.

“They're all looking, aren't they?” Daryl asked softly, keeping his eyes closed. He didn't want to see all those eyes on him again. He couldn't do it.

“No, they're not all looking,” Rick said, way louder than was necessary and with an intensity that seemed to dare people to keep staring. Daryl heard the aisle shuffle back to life. He raised his head tentatively, turning it to find Rick's eyes. Kindness and concern. The same look he'd gotten outside of that classroom all those months ago.

“Thanks,” Daryl said, straightening back up. Rick still had a can of pumpkin clutched in his other hand. The archer reached over and took it, putting in the buggy, and then he grabbed another from the shelf and added it too. Wherever that other can had rolled off to, fuck it.

“She told me it wasn't a miracle cure,” Daryl said, finally ready to talk about what had happened sometime during the car ride home. “But I still thought...”

“That the first one you've had since you started your medicine?” Rick asked.

“Yeah. Couple times things went a little wrong, but they went right again before it went that far.” Daryl fidgeted, playing in the crack around the glove compartment. “What if it's not workin anymore?” And that was his real worry. He didn't want to go back to having panic attacks with the frequency he'd had them before. Not on top of everything else he had to deal with.

“I think it's still working,” Rick said. “Think you're just going to have occasions where it's not enough. Shopping that close to a holiday is stressful for anyone. But now you know the limits of it, and you can tell Dr...K-K.. Shit, what is it?”

“Kemp. Told me to call her Carol though.”

“You can tell Carol about it, and maybe she can help you learn to stop them better before they take root. And I'll try to do better too. We should've found some less crowded places to stop so you could take a breather. I just wanted to get it over with as quick as we could. Wasn't thinking.”

“And if it ain't workin no more? If I'm always gonna be...” Broken. Broken with little periods of feeling whole before he had to live through shattering all over again.

He was already permanently damaged physically. He had really been hoping his brain would at least hold out for him. The medication had seemed to be working, and that stupid wall had even gone away after a while. He'd really thought it was over as far as shit in his head went. But there he was… A panic attack in the middle of the fucking grocery store. What a fucking loser.

Like he could sense the direction of his thoughts, Rick reached over and squeezed his thigh tightly before putting his hand back on the wheel.

“You won't,” Rick said. “We'll work it out. She'll help you find another way. Different medication or therapy techniques.”

“And if that don't do it either?”

“Then we'll find our own way to deal with it. I'll shop. Hell, we both know I'm a lot more useful shopping than I am cooking.” Rick laughed nervously, obviously trying to cheer him up. Daryl wanted to let him. He really did.

“Still can't believe you burned hard boiled eggs,” he said with a lot less enthusiasm in his voice than he'd have liked. “Really can't believe we ever got the smell out of the kitchen.”

“You're just jealous that you don't have the skill set I have, little duck.”

“The skill set to make the kitchen smell like the damn 9th circle of hell, you mean?”

“Oh c'mon, darlin, it wasn't that bad. Second or third circle tops.”

And Daryl laughed despite the lump of anxiety and embarrassment still lodged beneath his diaphragm. Rick was right. Everything they'd had thrown at them so far proved that no matter what went wrong, they could get through it as long as they had each other. Daryl took a deep breath, sighing out most of the remaining negativity he felt.

One way or another, it was all going to turn out okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the updates have been slow lately. I've been having a hard time getting in the groove again with this story. It's not because I don't want to write it anymore, because I love these nerds so much and I want to finish their journey so bad. It's killing me how much I'm struggling. But I'm going to keep pushing past it just like the babies keep pushing past all their obstacles, and I'll come through the other side eventually and (hopefully???) so will they.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me. ♥


	41. Thanksgiving

A small part of Rick felt grateful that the worst time of his short life had come right before the holiday season. Sure, it put a bit of a haze over all the festivities, but at the same time it gave him things to look forward to. Little islands of happiness he knew would come no matter how deep he sank before he reached them.  
  
Thanksgiving was no exception, and the thick hearty smells of roasted turkey and yams had settled in around his blue-tinted apathy like a blanket, covering it over with warmth and comfort. The atmosphere of the Greene family farm hadn't hurt either. It felt like the kind of place that had already seen a hundred Thanksgivings and happy memories, the kind of place that would keep standing to see a hundred more.  
  
“Your dad keeps lookin at me funny,” Daryl said, pulling Rick out of his thoughts. Somewhere in his head, he'd already started imagining the history of the home, wondering if the family had any information on their ancestors, considering which local library might have the old tax records and newspaper archives.  
  
“He'll get over it,” Maggie said.  
  
“Over what?”  
  
“Having a gaggle of gays in his house, obviously,” Tara said, munching on some mini carrots from the snack tray sitting on the coffee table. She'd been invited to the Greene farm too after her aunt and her aunt's fiancee had decided to make a trip to wine country for Thanksgiving instead of having their usual family meal.  
  
“Thank you, Tara,” Maggie said, her lips drawn into a thin line. “And he's okay enough with it to let me invite you, so just let him acclimate. It's more he's never seen it in person than anything.”  
  
“You invited us to your Thanksgiving when your dad isn't cool wi-”  
  
“He's fine with it,” Maggie said, reaching over Glenn to grab her iced tea off the side table. “We had a very long discussion.”  
  
“A long, hard discussion?” Tara asked, smirking and taking another bite of carrot, the crunch echoing softly off the living room walls. Maggie reached over and popped her lightly on the shin.  
  
“Stop.”  
  
“Which one of you made the pies?” A woman with kind, homely features came in and took the seat next to Tara. “Was it you?” she asked, smiling sweetly at Rick. He snorted.  
  
“If he'd made the pies, they'd still be in the Sara Lee boxes,” Daryl said.  
  
“Oh c'mon now, Sugar. You gotta give me a little more credit than that.” Rick nudged him with his foot. “If I'd made the pies, they'd all be brownies.”  
  
“Nothing wrong with those,” the woman said. “I'm Patricia by the way. The man sitting in there with Hershel is my husband, Otis.”  
  
“Nice to meet you,” Rick said, reaching over to shake her hand. “Thank you and your family for having us.”  
  
“I always liked a full house around the holidays. Would only be better if Beth was here.”  
  
“Beth?” Rick asked. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.  
  
“My little sister,” Maggie said. “She decided to be with her boyfriend's family today. Probably the main reason daddy's in a mood.”  
  
“The one who fell in the cow manure?” Rick asked.  
  
“Maggie Winifred Greene,” Patricia scolded playfully. “I know you have not been telling people that story.”

Daryl and Tara both froze with crudités in their hands.  
  
“Winifred?” they said in unison.   
  
“Don't you even,” Maggie said, shooting a glare at both of them. "Either of you."  
  
“Okay, Winnie,” Tara said, yelping a little when Maggie kicked her.  
  
“Should I be worried here?” Glenn asked, looking between the two women.  
  
“Glenn,” Maggie hissed, her word half-drowned by a loud timer going off in the kitchen.  
  
“That should be the turkey,” Patricia said looking at them all with an amused smile. She stood up and smoothed her apron before leaving the room.  
  
“Thank God, I'm starving.” Tara stuffed another carrot into her mouth.  
  
“You've been eating since you got here,” Glenn said.  
  
“That's because I've been hungry since I got here, Mr. Winifred Greene.” She winked at him.   
  
“That's it. Does anyone know Tara's middle name?” Maggie asked, looking around. “Rick? Had to be on some papers for the GSA or something, right?”  
  
Rick looked across the coffee table at Tara. He quirked an eyebrow at her and leaned back into the couch.  
  
“I might or might not know it.” He pretended to examine his fingernails. “I might definitely for certain know it.”  
  
“Tell me. I… I'll take Daryl shopping and put him in something that will kill you,” Maggie said. Daryl made a “pfft” noise next to him.  
  
“Just so we're clear, is that what you'll do if I do tell you or what you'll do if I don't?”  
  
Rick wasn't entirely sure which reality he'd want even though he knew she was joking. Probably the one that resulted in him ripping Daryl's clothes off. That was always a preferable ending, wasn't it?  
  
“Whichever one gets me her middle name.”  
  
“You might be placing your bets a little too strong there, Maggie,” Rick said.  
  
“C'mon, Rick. Plate of brownies.”  
  
“I'm telling you, you're gonna be real disappointed.” He took his water out from between his thighs and took a sip. “But you've got a deal. I'll take double fudge ones with chocolate chips.”  
  
“Done. What is it?”  
  
“Tara," Rick said.   
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“Her middle name is Tara.”  
  
“Tara Tara?” Glenn asked, and Maggie threw him a look before shaking her head.  
  
“She goes by her middle name, Glenn.”  
  
"Oh, yeah, that makes a lot more sense."  
  
“Yep,” Tara said, looking satisfied. She sucked a cherry tomato between her lips. Maggie scowled.  
  
“Well, what's her first name then?”  
  
“No,” Tara said quickly, sitting up straighter. Maggie sat up too, turning toward Rick with a determined glint in her eye. But Patricia came back into the room before she could even begin to try and persuade him.   
  
“Dinner's ready.”

Tara hopped up first, shoving one final vegetable in her mouth and chewing on the way. Glenn and Maggie followed with Rick and Daryl trailing, Daryl using his lover to balance while he hobbled to the kitchen instead of bothering with his crutch.  
  
Everything looked wonderful. A heaping plate of turkey with herbs and gravy. Spiral ham with a pineapple glaze. A huge pan of dressing. Candied yams sprinkled with marshmallows. Mashed potatoes and macaroni salad. Green bean casserole and corn on the cob. Rick inhaled deeply and smiled before reaching over to take Daryl's hand.  
 

* * *

  
“Today we thank you, Lord, for this bountiful feast, for the health of our family and friends, for my daughter's wonderful guests. We thank you most of all for the privilege of getting to come together and enjoy this meal as we know it's not a luxury afforded to everyone. Let this food nourish our bodies as we continue to do your will and serve you in our daily lives. Amen.”  
  
Daryl muttered a polite and reluctant, “Amen” before letting Rick guide him down into a chair at the dinner table with the promise that he'd bring him a plate. Usually he would've protested that he could do it himself, but the kitchen was crowded and he felt a little out of place as it was, so he sat quietly and waited while Rick navigated the throng around the food.    
  
“I need to talk to you after dinner,” Tara said, taking one of the seats next to him shortly after, her plate piled high. She immediately shoved half a crescent roll between her lips. “Don'f fell Rrck.”  
  
“Don't tell Rick what?” Daryl asked quietly, looking up at his boyfriend who was busy charming his way in between Patricia and Maggie to get a big scoop of homemade cranberry sauce. Tara swallowed, forcing the half-chewed roll down her throat.  
  
“You'll find out later. Good news though.” She patted him on the leg and started cutting turkey apart with her knife and fork.  
  
“Here you go, sweetheart,” Rick said, putting a plate down in front of him. “I'll be back.”  
  
“You could just tell me now,” Daryl said after the other man walked away again. Tara responded with something that sounded like “mmph rrr nnphrr” and shook her head. Daryl sighed and picked up his slice of ham before tearing off a bite.   
  
Around them, the table filled up quickly with Rick the last to arrive after fixing his own plate.  
  
“Hey thanks for gettin mine,” Daryl said low.   
  
“Always, sweetheart.” Rick reached over and gave his wrist a squeeze before tucking a piece of turkey into his roll with some stuffing, cranberry sauce, and mashed potatoes. Daryl looked at the concoction and then at him. Rick shrugged and took a bite.  
  
“Dude,” Glenn whispered in horror, looking at Rick like he'd just gutted a live possum on the dinner table.  
  
“It's all going to one place anyway,” Rick said. “Try it before you knock it.”  
  
Glenn watched him eat for a moment, clearly mulling over the idea. Hesitantly, he broke off a piece of his roll and made a bite-sized version of Rick's Thanksgiving sandwich. Dramatically screwing up his face and closing his eyes, he popped the thing in his mouth. One chew, two chews, and he hm'd.  
  
“Not bad actually.”  
  
“See,” Rick said before turning to Daryl. “You wanna try it, sugar?”  
  
“Ain't got nothin' left to try,” Daryl said, looking down at his empty plate. He'd used the last bit of his roll to sop up all the juices from his other food and all that was left were a few streaks of cranberry he'd run out of bread for. Rick smiled and turned back to his meal.  
  
“So Mr. Greene,” the former professor said, pausing between bites of cornbread dressing.  
  
“Please, call me Hershel.”  
  
“How long has this farm been in your family?”  
  
“Since the mid-1800s,” the silver-headed man said.  
  
“Is that when it was built?”  
  
And Daryl couldn't help the little smile that pulled at the corner of his lips at Rick's question. He could almost see the wheels turning under the gorgeous curls of his history nerd of a boyfriend. A glimpse of the passionate man he'd first fallen in love with. A quiet promise that Rick could and would recover eventually.   
  
“The main structure, yes. It's been added onto a lot over the years, but my great great grandfather cut down the lumber for it from the woods behind the house and built it with his sons.”

“I'd love a tour after dinner,” Rick said. “The original parts. What history you know.”  
  
“It would be my pleasure, Rick,” Hershel said with a gentle smile, the first one Daryl had seen aimed at either of them all evening. Tara nudged him with her knee and gave him a significant look. That would be their opportunity to talk about whatever it was she wanted to talk about. Daryl gave her a small nod.  
  
“Pie, sweetheart?” Rick asked, standing up and grabbing their plates after he finished polishing off his food. “You get enough to eat?”  
  
“Yeah, get me a little of all of it.”  
  
Rick brought them both back two heaping dessert plates and some warm apple cider.

“This pumpkin pie is excellent, Daryl,” Hershel said.  
  
Daryl smiled nervously. “Th-thank you, sir.”  
  
“And your banana pudding gets better every time I eat it, Patricia.”  
  
“Amen to that,” Otis said, putting a spoonful in his mouth.  
  
“And you get sweeter every time you have some, Hershel Greene,” she said, reaching over to pat the old farmer on the shoulder.  
  
“I'm loving the chocolate pecan myself,” Rick said, working on what had to be about a fourth of the whole pie.  
  
“Of course you are,” Daryl said. “You'd eat tree bark if I dipped it in chocolate first.”  
  
“He'd eat a lot more than tree bark,” Tara muttered. “A starfish maybe?”  
  
Rick made a little wheezing noise and choked on his pie, grabbing his napkin and hacking into it, squeezing it tight against his mouth while he stared wide-eyed at Tara who pushed a vanilla wafer around her plate with her spoon like nothing at all had happened. More hacking and he forced a few drops of cider down, wiping water out of his eyes.  
  
Rick took a second to catch his breath. Then he aimed a significant look at Maggie before turning back to Tara.   
  
“I don't really need chocolate to enjoy seafood, _Guinevere._ ”   
  
“Ha!” Maggie said, pointing at Tara and looking positively giddy. Tara gasped.   
  
“Richard!” Tara balled up her napkin and threw it at him.  
  
“Gwinny!” Rick retorted, throwing it back before standing up and dusting a few pie crust crumbs out of his lap. “So how about that tour, Hershel?”  
  
“I don't know, Rick,” Hershel said. “Things seem to have just gotten interesting here.” But the old man stood up anyway and pointed toward the hall. Daryl watched Rick follow him, the two of them talking animatedly the whole way.  
  
“Glenn, I don't know what you're thinking, but whatever it is, don't say it," Maggie said.   
  
Daryl took his focus off of Rick's retreating bowlegged walk and turned back to his former roommate. Glenn had both lips pressed together, and the the smile in his eyes told Daryl he had a really good joke that he was dying to let out, or at least the kid thought he had one.  
  
“Say it,” Daryl urged.  
  
C'mon Glenn, don't let me down.  
  
“Just thinking how lucky you are, bro.”  
  
“Me?”  
  
“Yeah. Thanksgiving with your two best girl friends, Gwinny and Winnie.”  
  
Daryl tried his best to keep his mouth a straight line, but he just couldn't. The laugh tugged the corners of his lips up anyway and he lost it, dissolving into a fit of giggles that had him leaning over the table.  
  
“I know where you sleep, Glenn Rhee,” Maggie said, but she was clearly trying her hardest not to laugh too.  
  
“Well,” Tara said, “give 'em up, boys.”  
  
“What?” Glenn asked.  
  
“Middle names. Only fair.”  
  
Glenn and Daryl exchanged looks.  
  
"Nope." Glenn shook his head.   
  
“Hell no,” Daryl said. “Hey, what'd you wanna talk about anyway?”  
  
“I shouldn't now that he gave me up,” Tara said, rolling her eyes. “C'mon though.”  
  
A few more Guinevere teases from Maggie, and Tara helped Daryl back into the living room, siting as close to him on the couch as she could. She glanced around the room furtively to make sure neither Hershel nor Rick were nearby, and then she pulled a piece of computer paper out of her back pocket and unfolded it in her lap.  
  
“I know I found it, but it just feels like you should get to do the honors.”  
  
Daryl reached down and angled the paper so he could read it.  
  
_New Museum Seeks Curator_  
_Bachelor's in history required. Master's preferred._  
  
_Job overview: Funding has recently been acquired for the lost colony museum in Manteo, North Carolina._  
  
Daryl had to stop reading for a second just to let the words properly sink in. No way. It was too perfect. Too Rick. He thought back to a night spent cuddled together on a beach, to a man baring his soul to him in the hopes that he'd understand. He clutched the edges of the paper in his fingers.  
  
_The person in this position will help set up the museum, which will include the creation of exhibits, acquisition of artifacts, and hiring of additional staff. Person will have a passion for history especially the lost Roanoke colony and a desire to share this knowledge and passion with the general public._  
  
Not a university job, but Rick could still share his love and educate with the hopes of inspiring people like himself.   
  
The ad went on to detail the application process, salary, and benefits. Daryl read every single word twice before folding it up and placing it reverently in the front pocket of his plaid shirt. He sat in stunned silence for a moment, his hand on top of the tiny rectangular bulge over his chest.   
  
“I don't know where you found this, Tara, but thank you so much.”  
  
“It's what we do, Daryl. I know you'd both have my back in a pinch. Team DRR MEAT, remember?”  
  
And with barely a second thought, Daryl reached over and threw his arms around her. They both tensed at the contact, but she hugged him back briefly before their dispositions got the better of them.  
  
“Only bummer is that he'll probably have to live out there, which might make it hard on you guys.”  
  
Yeah, that would be a bummer. A real fucking bummer. Not getting to wake up to him every morning. Not having the constant smell of brownies baking far too often for any normal household. No beard tickling his neck and cheek while he tried to brush his teeth.  
  
But Daryl would be busy with school and archery and climbing underneath cars, and there would be weekends and holidays and long summers. And he could maybe finally deal with his phone thing. Or at least deal with a small enough part of it that he could talk to Rick. If not, there was always texting.   
  
“We'll make it work,” Daryl said. “He needs this. I need him to feel… to be….”  
  
“I think it feels right, don't you?”  
  
And something told Daryl that it was meant to be Rick's before it was even put out into the universe, that he had it in the bag even though he didn't even know about it yet.  
  
“Think you're right.”

And it was the best icing on the most perfect family holiday he'd ever been a part of. Which is why when everyone had finally gathered back in the living room for board games and a second helping of dessert, Daryl couldn't help smiling and laughing until his cheeks ached.  
  
“Nuh uh, Glenn, it's $400. I have two hotels there.” Maggie pointed to the little buildings. “Cough it up, lover boy.”  
  
“Two hundred a night for a hotel, Maggie. That's insane,” Glenn said, forking over the fake money.  
  
“Winifred's bed and breakfast. It's super ritzy,” Tara said.  
  
“Better than Guinevere's hotel and casino. The theme's a little cheesy. Knights of the Round Table and all.”  
  
“Oh c'mon, Winnie,” Rick added, barely able to keep a straight face while he rolled the dice. “It's just a bit of Hocus Pocus.”  
  
Tara snorted, offered him a fist bump, and dutifully handed him a “Community Chest” card. Before the former professor could read it though, Daryl's phone buzzed and beeped loudly, pulling everyone's attention to him.   
  
“Well who could that be?” Maggie teased. “Rick and I are both here.”  
  
Daryl mock sneered at her and flipped his phone open. And damn he didn't think he could've smiled any harder than he had been since dinner, but there he was, gazing upon another perfect moment in an exceedingly perfect day.   
  
“It's Aaron. Eric said yes.”  
  
And Daryl wouldn't have been surprised if Aaron and Eric could hear the other part of their family clapping and cheering for them even across the miles. 


	42. The Front Porch Cafe

Daryl sat on the edge of the bed, watching Rick peer into the depths of his closet, a hand on either side of the door frame. They were halfway between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and it had been a long day so far—a morning with his physical therapist followed by an early afternoon with his orthopedic doctor, the latter appointment ending in Daryl walking to Rick's car on his own two feet, crutch-free even if he didn't quite have his sea legs yet.  
  
Which meant he and Rick had already started to slowly re-occupy the upstairs master bedroom. Which meant Daryl wanted to be doing a lot more in the big, cushy bed than sitting on it. He would've done just about anything if it meant he could get a good, down and dirty, head-down ass-up, proper doggie-style pounding. Filthy and grueling and preceded by a trip downstairs to retrieve the contents of the toy drawer.  
  
But instead, there was his boyfriend, jittery and standing in front of his closet the way a stoner stands in front of a Taco Bell menu.  
  
“Maybe you should try some shit on,” Daryl suggested.  
  
And maybe I could take it off you after you make a decision.  
  
“I just don't know if…” Rick sighed, turning to face him. “I don't know if I should go academic or pure business. I want them to see me and know that I'm exactly what they're looking for.”  
  
“Rick, I ain't even met the other applicants and I already know you're gonna kick their asses in the interview. You could probably wear somethin of mine and still get the damn job.” Daryl leaned back on his hands a little, not entirely unaware of how the strain on his arms made them look. Rick's eyes flicked to his bicep and he forced back a smirk before shifting a little so his muscles would too. “You're definitely what they're lookin for.”  
  
“Mhm.” Rick covered his face with his hands and took a deep breath, the air hissing through the cracks between his fingers. He slid them off and nodded. “I'm gonna try some shit on.”  
  
“Good call. Been a lot of brownies between last time you wore this shit and now.”  
  
“Not enough brownies to keep you from trying to seduce me, sugar, and don't think I haven't noticed.”  
  
“Don't know what you're talkin about,” Daryl said.

“I'm sure you don't.” Rick made a show of peeling off his tee shirt, muscles flexing far too sinfully for a man who'd basically spent the last two months laying on the couch. Daryl squirmed a little.  
  
“Don't know what you're showin off for, old man. Not doin anything for me.”  
  
“Guess this won't either,” Rick said, dropping his sweat pants. Daryl's eyes strayed right to his crotch, to his cock sitting at half-mast within his boxer-briefs. He licked his lips without meaning to.  
  
“Not a thing.”

“Mhm,” Rick said, already pulling clothes out of his closet. He tugged on a pair of black slacks, and Daryl didn't need him to tell him that they were tighter than they used to be. They hugged his thighs like they'd been airbrushed on.    
  
“Fuck,” Daryl sighed, raking his eyes down Rick's legs.  
  
“Fuck's right,” Rick said, turning around to face him. The older man was struggling with the last half inch between the button and the hole, trying his best to force the pants shut. But half an inch was still half an inch too far. Rick let go, panting just a little. “Don't reckon these fit right now.”  
  
“Reckon you're right,” Daryl said, sitting up. “C'mere a second.”  
  
“Why? You know a trick?” Rick stepped closer, stopping right in front of him, making it painfully easy to notice the way the tight fabric hugged his bulge.  
  
“Nope,” Daryl said, reaching out and cupping one hand each around the meatiest part of his legs. “Just needed to do somethin.”  
  
“Thought I wasn't doing anything for you today, little duck?”  
  
“Shh, I'm trying to grope your legs.”  
  
“At least I know you don't care about me putting on a few pounds.”  
  
“Never would,” Daryl said, squeezing a line down to Rick's knees. He ran his hands back up and down again, and then he pulled them away, palming one over his own cock. “Alright. Put on a different pair of pants.”  
  
“You know,” Rick said, walking back to the closet. “I'm pretty nervous.”  
  
“I know,” Daryl said. “Who wouldn't be?”  
  
Hell, he was nervous for him. As sure as he was that Rick was going to get the damn thing, he still worried that he might not. He worried they might check into Rick's past, find that shitty article about him getting fired without bothering with the half-ass retraction. He worried that they they might turn him down and that it would be Daryl's fault. Rick would be fucking devastated, and he'd feel like shit for even telling him about the job to begin with.  
  
“Yeah, but what I mean, sweetheart, is I'm really tense.” He pulled out a pair of charcoal gray slacks and held them up to gauge the fit. “Might not be a bad idea to-”  
  
“See if my knee really is all better?”  
  
Rick huffed a little laugh while he peeled the black slacks off.  
  
“I can put it through all the paces. Really make sure.” He pulled on the other pair of pants and fastened them with ease. One white button-up and a pale blue tweed jacket later, and Daryl felt his heart skip a little in his chest. Hello, Professor.   
  
“Not sure what to do with this,” Rick said, raking his fingers through the thick, mahogany hair on his chin. “Think I should shave it off?”  
  
“No,” Daryl answered a little too quickly.  
  
Don't you fucking dare.  
  
“Guess I could give it a trim, clean it up a bit.”

“Like that idea better.”

Rick adjusted the sleeves in the mirror over the dresser, smirking back at him in the glass.

“And the outfit?”  
  
“Liked you better in your underwear, but it looks good.”  
  
“Should I try on a suit too?”  
  
“Think you should wear that,” Daryl said. “You're what they're lookin for, so you should look like you.”

“Getting all soft on me, Daryl?” Rick asked, walking back over the bed so he could lean down and kiss him.

“Maybe.” Daryl reached out and rubbed some of the tweed between his fingers, his thumb just brushing the satiny lining. “Rick...”  
  
“Mhm?”  
  
“Is… is this the jacket from your office that one time?”  
  
Rick looked down, taking one of the flaps and peeking at the lining.  
  
“The one you came all in?” he asked. “Yeah. Why else would it be my favorite jacket?”  
  
“You are the dirtiest fucker I've ever met.” Daryl pulled at one of the flaps too, like he could somehow see the remnants of that night there in the lining. God that had been such hot sex. The last time they'd fucked properly without Daryl's injuries getting in the way. The last time they'd fucked before both their lives descended into chaos.  
  
And suddenly, he wanted the next time to be a little more poetic than it was shaping up to be.  
  
“Dirtiest fucker you've ever met. And yet here you are, darlin, sitting in my bed waiting patiently for me to fuck you.”  
  
“Ain't gonna,” Daryl said, almost regretting it a little himself when the words came out. Because he meant them despite how much he'd been craving it all day.  
  
“Mhm.” Rick raked his fingers through Daryl's hair like he didn't believe him.  
  
“I mean it.” Daryl straightened the jacket up and swore at himself in his head. Damn't, Daryl, why do you have to be so damn sentimental right now? “Night I violated that jacket, we were celebratin something important and it was the last time we got to do stuff right. Next time I violate it, we'll be celebratin something again.”  
  
“We don't have to bring the jacket into it, sugar,” Rick said. “Can violate plenty of other stuff today without including it.”  
  
“Rick...”  
  
The older man sighed but leaned down to kiss him anyway. Daryl had to fight himself with every single brush of the other man's lips, with every slide of his tongue across his own. God, he wanted it. He wanted it so bad. Stuffed and filled and spanked and fucked. He pulled back, biting his own tongue.   
  
It would be better though, so much better, if they made it a thing. And it felt like some strange good luck charm hanging over the interview. Rick had to get the job so they could romp like filthy animals. He just had to.  
  
“Alright,” Rick said. “But I expect a big celebration.”  
  
“You'll get one, you dirty old man.”  
  
“Get the job. Get that ass,” Rick said, playing in his hair some more. Daryl snorted.  
  
“That's a good one,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Be sure to tell them that in the interview.”  
  
“'Why do you want this position Mr. Grimes?'” Rick said, talking in a ridiculously posh British accent of all things. “'Oh, I really like Roanoke and also my boyfriend promised that if I get _this_ position, I can get him into all the positions I want later on tonight.'”  
  
“Ain't really about the number of positions,” Daryl said.

It's about the toys and you being inside me and the glorious shit that comes out of your mouth.  
  
“Do you wanna know something I've always wanted to do to you?” Rick leaned down, putting his mouth right next to Daryl's good ear while he talked, voice low and smooth as a pond on a windless day.  
  
“Somethin dirty they'll list as a reason when I get to hell, I'm sure.”  
  
Rick kept talking, letting his beard tickle Daryl's chin and neck.  
  
“Wanna spend a day around the house just seeing how much random shit we can fit up your needy little ass.”  
  
Jesus Christ. Daryl rubbed his face against Rick's, feeling the beard scratch across his cheek. It was about the only thing he could think to do besides completely throwing his resolve out the window and letting Rick take him against the dresser.  
  
Which was a really damn tempting idea.  
  
“At least I know you'll be in hell with me,” Daryl said. Rick smiled and reached over to rub his jawline with two fingers. 

“Heaven is a place so inane, so dull, so useless, so miserable that nobody has ever ventured to describe a whole day there.”  
  
Daryl pulled back to look at Rick, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“George Bernard Shaw, give or take a few words,” the older man said, like that clarified everything. Daryl pondered that a second and shrugged.   
  
“Ain't nothin I'd rather do. Goin down, party time. My friends are gonna be there too.”  
  
“AC/DC?” Rick asked.  
  
“You started it.” Daryl shrugged.  
  
“I love you.”  
  
“Who said that one?”  
  
“Rick Grimes, circa 2015.” The former professor stepped back and slipped the tweed jacket off.  
  
“Love you too,” Daryl said.

“Know you do, sweetheart.” There was a comfortable silence between them while Rick finished taking off the interview outfit, silence Daryl filled by looking down at the floor, taking deep breaths, and willing his body to finish calming down.  
  
“When I get finished ironing everything, you wanna go for a walk?” Rick asked, already setting up the ironing board.  
  
God, when was the last time Daryl had just gone for a walk? He'd never even had a chance to explore the neighborhood. Shit, he'd hardly even explored the damn back yard. It was a nice day for it too. The weather had been unseasonably warm that week, feeling a lot more like late spring than mid-December.   
  
“Sounds great actually.”  
  
He laid back on the bed and cradled his head on his arms while he waited.  


* * *

  
Five hours. Five gruelingly long hours between Rick's house and the little cafe on Roanoke Island where he was to meet the hiring committee for the museum. Five hours for his stomach to churn in a never-ending tilt-a-whirl of nerves. His sweaty palms slipped on the steering wheel for what had to be the fourth time since he'd kissed Daryl good-bye, wished him good luck on his test that day, and headed out.  
  
He tried to fill the time by reviewing standard interview questions in his head. He'd been preparing for two weeks now, ever since they got home from Thanksgiving dinner and Daryl pulled the job listing out of his pocket. As soon as he'd finished bruising Daryl's lips with his own, he'd started thinking about the interview. It had been daydreams at first, Rick polishing his resume while he imagined talking and laughing with faceless figures, impressing them with his charm and his knowledge of the lost colony.  
  
When they'd contacted him about a meeting, it had started in earnest. He'd Googled the questions he'd half-forgotten, going over his strengths and his greatest weakness (Daryl wasn't an acceptable answer to the latter no matter how true). He'd made index cards and enlisted Daryl's help, who in turn enlisted Maggie's help because Rick was driving him crazy.    
  
And then finally the big day, Rick trapped in the car alone for far too many hours while he tried to remind himself over and over that he was more than ready for the task at hand.  
  
Yeah, right. If he was so damn ready, then why did it feel like there was an angry hornet's nest in his stomach? And why the hell did it feel like he was trembling hard enough to shake apart?  
  
He flipped on the radio, catching it in the middle of Band of Horses' _the Great Salt Lake._ He inhaled deeply and tried to focus on the gentle rhythm of the music. Anything but his nerves and the tiny knot in his esophagus that made him feel a little like vomiting all over his dash. He drove on.   


* * *

  
  
The Front Porch Cafe in Manteo was a quaint little coffee shop near Shallowbag Bay. Rick straightened his tweed jacket while he walked by the rocking chairs flanking the front door, the rich aroma of coffee beans already finding its way up his nose.  
  
The first thing he noticed when he walked in were the three people sitting on a couch in the corner, a few papers spread out in front of them on the table. The second thing he noticed was the pastry display.  
  
“Can I help you?” a woman asked, smiling warmly.  
  
Rick glanced at the people who likely made up his hiring committee and felt the turmoil in his belly start all over again while he tried to decide if it would be acceptable for him to get something. He was early. One of his interviewers had a half-eaten pastry. Two of them had coffees. Surely they wouldn't mind if he did the same.  
  
That and he could put off the interview for a few more fleeting moments. He stared up at the menu board.

“I want a chocolate-filled croissant and a chocolate bianco latte,” Rick said.  
  
“I'm sensing a bit of a theme here,” she said, already using a pair of tongs to pull a croissant out of the case.  
  
“Nervous habit.” Rick glanced at the group in the corner again.    
  
“You the one here for that museum interview?”  
  
“I guess I am,” Rick said.  
  
“Want some help?” she asked, turning away to start mixing his coffee.  
  
“Help?”  
  
“The one on the left, deputy mayor Tobin Andrews. Big Panthers fan. Bring 'em up once and he's your friend for life.”  
  
Rick accepted his drink from her and forked over a twenty, taking a sip and waiting for more. The sweet taste of coffee laced with chocolate washed over his tongue. So the first one was and a sports fan. Rick never cared too much for football, but with Shane in his life, he still felt pretty good about his ability to bullshit.  
  
“Middle one is Denise Cloyd. Local psychologist. One of the investors. She's gonna be a lot more nervous than you.”  
  
Rick looked again out of the corner of his eye. Denise was sitting up a little too straight with a few papers covering her lap, her coffee cup clutched tightly in both hands like a security blanket.  
  
“And the other one?”  
  
The one on the right looked the most confident of all of them in black slacks and a matching vest over a white shirt. He had a dark, neatly trimmed beard and a long head of hair pulled back into a bun, and he sat lounging on the couch with both feet up on the coffee table. A small voice in the back of Rick's head said “you want to fuck him.” A slightly louder one said “but not as much as you want to fuck Daryl.” Both things were true.  
  
“That's Paul Monroe,” she said, a little pink rising to her cheeks. “Teaches at the high school but he's a bit of a local history expert himself. Does all them Spartan races and the ninja warrior stuff like you see on TV.”  
  
“Is that right?” Rick asked. That certainly explained the arms.  
  
No. Rick Grimes, this is not the time or the person or the biceps.  
  
He took a big bite of the chocolate-filled croissant and chewed.  
  
“Any tips on him?”  
  
“He's definitely the one you need to impress the most,” she said, finally handing over his change. Rick immediately put all of it in the tip jar. “The man could sell garlic to a vampire, so if he likes you, he'll bring the others around.”  
  
“Guess I'm going in,” Rick said. “Thanks for all your help.”  
  
“Good luck.”  
  
With a deep breath, Rick turned on his boots and walked toward the committee.  
  
“Rick Grimes?” Paul asked, taking his feet off the coffee table to he could lean forward and offer him his hand. Rick took it and yelled at that same little voice in his head that now insisted on pointing out how firm and smooth the other man's grip was. God, he was worse than Daryl at his physical therapist.  
  
“Yes, sir.” Rick shook Denise and Tobin's hands in turn and took a seat in the little arm chair caddy-corner to the couch. He held up his croissant and coffee. “Hope you don't mind. Bit of a drive down here.”  
  
“Not at all,” Tobin said, reaching to pick up a stack of papers in front of him. “Best coffee in the state.”

“Are you ready to begin?” Paul asked.  
  
“As ready as I can be, I suppose.” Rick took another sip of his drink, letting the heat and cocoa kill some of his nerves.  
  
“Denise, you wanna start?”  
  
“Oh… um…” She swallowed hard and leaned over to set her coffee cup down before picking up the papers in her lap, her hands trembling so much that he couldn't help noticing. It reminded him of Daryl a bit, and he did his best to smile warmly at her, hoping it was reassuring in some way. She returned it with a quick twitch of her mouth before looking back down at her notes.   
  
“Why do you want this job?”  
  
“Why do I want this job?” Rick looked down at his hands, nodding and putting his thoughts together. “Well, I don't know if I'd call it a dream job or if I'd call it feeding an obsession. Maybe both. I remember hearing about Roanoke for the first time when I was twelve. I… I wanted to know everything. The school library, the Internet... Whatever I could get my hands on, I did.”  
  
He paused, glancing at Tobin and Paul before looking back at Denise. She was the definitely the least-intimidating to focus on.  
  
“Most things twelve year old boys become obsessed with don't last,” he continued.  
  
“Except girls,” Tobin joked. Rick laughed a little and bit back the urge to say that he wouldn't know. Best not to bring that up.   
  
“Go on,” Paul said, uncrossing and recrossing his ankles on the coffee table.  
  
“Mine lasted. I never stopped wondering, never stopped reading the newest findings and theories, even the weird ones. I went to college for history and started teaching it, hoping to help people find their own obsessions. But I kept studying this place, kept reading fiction set around it, everything. And here I am.”  
  
“Why'd you stop teaching?” Paul asked. Rick looked over at him and found his features blank other than a slight bit of interest. No indications of whether or not he already knew the answer. Still, he knew better than to lie no matter how much it pained him to start down that road.  
  
“I was let go,” Rick said.  
  
“Wondered if you'd admit to that.”  
  
Fanfuckingtastic.   
  
The former professor shifted in his chair and resisted the urge to shove the rest of his croissant in his mouth, opting to take a sip of coffee instead. Paul Monroe rifled through his papers and pulled out a printed copy of the article that had come out after.  
  
“A relationship with a male student. Something about being arrested once.”  
  
Rick took a bite of the croissant and practically swallowed it without chewing.  
  
“Mr. Grimes, your application is perfect other than this. I'm giving you a chance to explain here.” Paul leaned back on the couch again. God, why hadn't he thought to have Maggie or Daryl prepare him for something like this in all those mock interviews?  
  
“A _male_ student?” Tobin asked. “So you're…” He cleared his throat.  
  
Great. Outed twice already and he'd only gotten to answer one damn question.  
  
Paul slowly turned his gaze from Rick and onto the other interviewer, peering at him around Denise who just sat there looking a bit like a deer in headlights.  
  
“So he's what, Mr. Andrews?” Paul asked. Tobin clammed up, his eyes going a little wide. He cleared his throat again.  
  
“Mr. Grimes…?” Mr. Monroe turned back to him.  
  
“Look,” Rick said, “I know this is probably what you expect every guy in this situation to say, but it wasn't like that.”  
  
“What was it like?”  
  
“That article makes me sound like some kind of creep. For starters the arrest was me being drunk in college and singing in a parking lot. It was stupid and I was stupid, but I wasn't charged with anything.”  
  
“And the student?”  
  
“Daryl,” Rick said, trying to figure out how best to explain. God, how could even begin to describe Daryl so that they'd understand without him giving them too much information? “He's been here, you know?”  
  
“To the Front Porch Cafe?” Denise asked.  
  
“To Manteo. I brought him on our first date, took him to the beach to show him where maybe…To show him me.”  
  
“To show him what part of you exactly?” Tobin asked.  
  
Jesus Christ. Rick put his face in his hands.  
  
“Ignore him,” Paul said. “What happened between you and Daryl?”  
  
“We… We're still together, and he's the only student I ever had any sort of relationship of any kind with. It… It wasn't some sort of sick power play or me taking advantage or anything like that. Heck, he'd barely even let me help him study when he was still in my class, let alone favor him. We were just two people who knew we shouldn't fall in love who did it anyway.”  
  
Rick chanced a look at Paul again, trying to gauge whether or not he'd succeeded in getting his point across, but the man was as unreadable as a book written in a dead language translated into another dead language. In code. At least Denise looked a little bit sympathetic. He didn't even care to see what Tobin looked.  
  
“Okay then,” Paul said, looking at his papers again. “This job will entail a lot of teaching. I assume you're comfortable with that.”  
  
Rick raised an eyebrow, a little taken aback. That was it? Onto the next question? Could things really go from “hello, are you a pervert?” to “anyway, so back to this interview” in that span of time? He took a long sip of his drink to re-orient himself.  
  
“I, uh, yes. I am comfortable teaching. Especially on this subject. That would be my favorite part of the job actually if I…”

“Do you have any other teaching experience besides the obvious?” Paul asked.  
  
“I was a TA for a while before I became the real thing.”  
  
The questions went on, getting more and more normal as they went. They went through old standards he'd rehearsed with Daryl and Maggie—questions about his leadership experience, about how he'd handle dissatisfied museum guests, how he'd handle a crisis. The last question came from Paul and was a multi-part verbal quiz on the history and theories about the colony. By the end of it, he felt a little confident again, like maybe the other man really had believed that Daryl wasn't something sordid, like maybe he really wasn't going to let it skew his opinion of him.

“Thank you for coming to meet with us, Mr. Grimes,” Tobin said.  
  
Rick stood up and went to go shake all their hands again, left to right this time.  
  
“We only have two more interviews after yours and they're both this afternoon,” Paul said, letting go of his hand. “We should know something by tonight.”  
  
“Don't know that we'll be that hasty, Mr. Monroe,” Tobin said.  
  
Paul gave a little shake of his head, so small that Rick thought he may have imagined it.  
  
“We should know something by tonight,” he repeated again, a little more forcefully. Rick gave a little tilt of a nod.  
  
“Thank you all for your time.” The former professor picked up his empty coffee cup and croissant paper and threw them away on the way out, nodding and smiling to the helpful woman behind the counter before he slipped out onto the porch.   
  
Well, it hadn't been ideal, but it hadn't been terrible either. He sent Daryl a text that he was headed back and cranked up the Camry.  
  
He was halfway home when a robotic female voice interrupted Manchester Orchestra.  
  
“Call from 252-555-6257. Call from 252-”  
  
Rick hit the speaker phone button on his steering wheel, his pulse pounding in his neck.  
  
“Hello.” And he was surprised he got the word out without choking on it.  
  
“Mr. Grimes, it's Paul Monroe.”  
  
He threw his blinker on and whipped the car over onto the shoulder.  
  
“Yes?” The former professor closed his eyes and leaned his forehead on the steering wheel. C'mon. C'mon, please. He sucked in a breath and held it.  
  
“I'm sorry.”  
  
No. No no no.   
  
Rick pushed his head down lower between his hands. Fuck. So much for that celebration Daryl had planned. God, he didn't even want to go home now. How could he tell him?  
  
“Thanks.... for calling, I guess,” Rick said. It wasn't a courtesy most people gave, especially nowadays.  
  
“I wasn't done.”  
  
“Oh,” Rick said, already wondering where the nearest store was. Where could he buy an entire snack box of cosmic brownies to shove into his face hole? Maybe he could get some Hershey bars too, make a little brownie/chocolate my-life-is-shit sandwich.  
  
“Sounded like you really have something special with Daryl.”  
  
“Mhm.” Daryl whose hopes had been so high. Daryl who had thought there was no way in hell Rick wouldn't get this job. Rick had almost believed him, especially near the end of the interview when he was answering all of Paul's questions with ease.  
  
“Just sorry that you're going to have to spend so much time away from him.”  
  
“Yeah,” Rick mumbled.  
  
Wait…  
  
He jerked back upright. “What? What did you just say?”  
  
“You're the most qualified person for the job, Rick. It's yours if you want it.”  
  
“Do I even need to answer that?”  
  
“Guess not. Think you can come back down Monday for a tour of the place?” Paul asked.  
  
“Yes.” A million fucking times yes.   
  
“We'll see you then.”  
  
“Thank you. And by the way,” Rick started.  
  
“Hm?  
  
“That wasn't funny.”  
  
Paul laughed quietly on the other end of the line.  
  
“It was a little funny.” He didn't wait for Rick to respond before hanging up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously Paul/Jesus hasn't been introduced so I have no idea what his personality is going to be like on the show, but it's an AU and I needed someone who would be able to see Rick for who he really is and also I wanted him in the story real bad soooooo ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Also Tara x Denise isn't going to happen, because there just isn't time in the story to make it so. But, I like the think since they have a connection now through Rick that it happens at some point in the future.


	43. Paint Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate this chapter to [Ijustwantedyoutoneedme.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ijustwantedyoutoneedme) Thank you for being my sounding board and my muse and my detail-keeper.

The wind whooshed by, whipping Daryl's tee shirt against his skin and tickling his neck with the tiny bit of hair not stuffed under his helmet. Beneath him, his motorcycle growled and rumbled, carrying him down the highway at a pretty leisurely fifty-five. The ride to the university that morning had been short and purposeful, but the one that took him home seemed wide open for enjoyment.  
  
He had hours before Rick could even be expected back, a beautifully warm and sunny day despite the holiday yard displays he'd been zooming by, and three quarters of a tank of gas. Daryl intentionally passed his and Rick's driveway, doing a little loop around the red and white sign that warned of a dead end before driving back up their street. He took a side-road out to the highway and roamed his way through a few different neighborhoods before heading home, satisfied with the idea that he'd hopefully never have to go so long without riding again.  
  
The first thing he did when he arrived was start pulling ingredients out of the kitchen cabinets. He busied himself measuring out flour and cocoa with the intention of making some brownies from scratch—the occasion called for something better than some shit from a box. He had taken to calling the recipe he'd invented in his head “chocolate explosion,” and it consisted of rich, gooey brownies with chocolate and white chocolate chips, drizzled with melted milk chocolate and topped with mixed chocolate shavings.  
  
It took him about three hours to fully finish his culinary masterpieces between cooking them, letting them fully cool, and then all the melting and drizzling and sprinkling. But it gave him time to think. Because as much as he second-guessed Rick getting the job, he couldn't help the feeling of sureness he felt either. Which meant that he needed to have a game plan for how they were going to celebrate. And some simple doggie-style shit in their bed wasn't going to cut it no matter how good it was.  
  
The heat from cooking and his refusal to run the a/c in December drove him out onto the front porch where he curled up in the porch swing with a bottle of water to think some more. He was in the middle of doing a mental inventory of the toy drawer when his phone beeped.  
  
“On my way home. Think it went alright, but I'm not sure. Said they'd know something later.”

“hope so. i'm ready to celebrate.” Well, mostly. As soon as he thought of something worth doing, he would be.  
  
“We'll celebrate no matter what, sugar. ;) See you soon.”  
  
Daryl smiled down at his phone and flipped it shut, shoving it back in his front pocket. He went back to thinking, fiddling with the wrapper on his water bottle while he did. They'd done spanking and flogging and bondage and Daryl had about everything in that drawer that would fit up his ass inside of him.  
  
Maybe he could go shopping or something? He wondered how Maggie would feel stepping foot in a sex shop. Then he'd have to admit what kind of shit he was really into and… no. Definitely not. He didn't have any money anyway.  
  
He sighed and watched the way the shadows from the tree branches danced on the hood of the Mustang with each little breeze. His eyes went wide.  
  
The Mustang.

He pictured it almost immediately, being splayed over the hood, Rick pounding into him until he splattered his orgasm all over the midnight blue paint job.  
  
Yeah, that was fucking happening.  
  
He just needed one little thing. He whipped out his phone and sent a text to Aaron.  
  
“need u to get me somethin if u can. don't ask why.”  
  
“You got it.”  
  
He sent some more details to his friend, took another drink of his water, and headed inside to find the keys, carefully maneuvering the Mustang around trees to park it out of view behind the house. A drop-off from Aaron followed by some light teasing about what he might be up to, and all he had left to do was wait.  
  
Wait and hope that the Rick who walked through the front door later had something to celebrate.  


* * *

The sun was barely starting to set when Rick pulled up in their driveway. The thought of being able to tell Daryl the good news re-ignited the excitement that had calmed a little during the long drive. He felt like his blood was buzzing in his veins as he slid his key into the lock, pushing open the front door and stepping inside. The house was dead quiet.  
  
“Daryl? Sweetheart?”  
  
Light filtered out from the kitchen door, so Rick followed it. In the middle of the kitchen table, he found a note and a pyramid of brownies so decadent-looking he nearly groaned aloud. He forced himself to pick up the note first.  
  
_“If you got it grab a brownie and come out back. If you didn't grab all the brownies and I'll figure it out eventually.  
  
-D.”_  
  
Rick smiled and did as instructed, taking a brownie off the top of the stack and sinking his teeth into it. He chewed and savored it as he headed for the back door, the thought of celebratory sex with Daryl the only thing that kept him from turning around and eating the rest of them in one go. Because Jesus Christ, they were good.  
  
But Daryl's ass was better. So Rick kept walking, sucking chocolate off his fingers before tugging open the back door.  
  
His eyebrow shot up almost immediately at the sight awaiting him in the back yard. There was Daryl, clad in gray mechanic's coveralls with the sleeves rolled up to sinfully showcase his arms, casually bent over the engine of the Mustang.  
  
How the fuck had Rick not noticed it was missing from the driveway? Thank God he'd gone into history because some damn cop he would've made.  
  
“This your car?” Daryl glanced back at him, his hair tousled and a little smudge of oil on his otherwise pristine cheek. Rick had a brief mental image of fucking Daryl with oil-stained hands, smearing it all over his skin with every movement. He tilted his head and looked his boyfriend up and down.  
  
“Mhm.”  
  
“Did a full restoration on the engine. New tires and brakes. New fuel line. Fixed that short in the steering column too.” Daryl turned around and leaned against the bumper, crossing his arms over his chest. The motion made his biceps and shoulders look better than the fucking brownies. Rick licked his lips.

He didn't know exactly where this little roleplay was going to lead, but he certainly liked the current direction. God what he wouldn't give to watch Daryl stick his hand into that suit and jerk off inside the confines of the fabric. The older man reached his down to adjust his erection in his slacks. Daryl watched with interest.  
  
“It all looks good,” Rick said, raking his eyes over Daryl's body. The younger man clearly noticed, shifting slightly under the scrutiny.  
  
“Mhm. Just need to settle up your account and then I'll give you the keys.” He pulled them out of the pocket of his jumpsuit and dangled them enticingly on the end of his finger.

Rick looked at them and then at Daryl, whose pretty blue eyes looked more mischievous than Rick remembered them looking in a while, if ever.  
  
What game are we playing here, little duck?  
  
“How much do I owe you?”  
  
“Parts didn't come cheap and some of the work was tricky.” Daryl turned back toward the car, running his fingertips over what Rick thought might be the air filter. “Comes up to a little over twelve grand.”  
  
And even though he knew he didn't actually owe him anything, Rick's eyes still went a little wide at that. He wondered briefly if that was a true-to-life figure or if Daryl had just pulled the number out of his tight little ass. But the wondering only lasted a second, about the amount of time it took for Rick to figure out exactly what Daryl wanted from him.  
  
The corners of his lips slowly twisted into a lust-fueled smirk. Oh, sweetheart, for me? You really shouldn't have.  
  
“Twelve grand?” Rick asked. “You're kidding, right?”  
  
Daryl turned around, keys still clutched in his oil-streaked hands.  
  
“Restoration on the engine alone took about nine. You said you wanted to keep it authentic.”  
  
Rick rubbed the bridge of his nose.  
  
“Does the shop have some sort of payment plan? I can put five down on it. Promise I'm good for the rest.”  
  
“Every guy says he's 'good for the rest.' Trouble with that is they usually ain't.”  
  
“I'm not every guy,” Rick said.  
  
“I don't know you, _sir_.”  
  
Rick's breath hitched a little at the word. Damn't, that little shit knew exactly what stuff like that did to him.  
  
“Look,” Rick started, “I'm a pretty upstanding member of the community. People listen to me.”  
  
“Is that a threat, _Mr. Grimes_?” Daryl asked, smirking a little.  
  
Yes, he definitely, definitely knew he was pushing Rick's favorite buttons, and it took all the older man had not to lunge at him and break the charade. Instead he stuck a hand in his pocket, pushing his fingers against the lining so he could brush them against the head of his cock. It wasn't even close to satisfactory. His hips bucked a little into the touch. Daryl didn't miss it, squirming slightly where he stood.  
  
“Not at all, _Mr. Dixon._ What I'm trying to say is that maybe we work something out and you look at it as an investment. I'll tell everyone I know who did the magnificent work on my car. They bring their own cars in. Word of mouth is a powerful thing.”  
  
“Ain't as powerful as money,” Daryl said, making a show of clutching his hands around the keys and putting them back in his pocket.  
  
“What about something better than money?” Rick asked. Daryl scoffed.  
  
“Only thing better than money is sex.”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
Daryl's face was a mix of emotions at that. Rick could see two different men in his features. There was the Daryl clearly trying to stick with the roleplay, squinting at him in confusion. And then there was the Daryl clearly pleased with the fact that Rick had picked up on the game and helped maneuver it right where he'd intended it to go, trying his hardest not to smile.  
  
Goddamn Rick loved this boy.  
  
“What exactly are you offering me, Mr. Upstanding Member of the Community?” Daryl asked.  
  
“I give you the five grand and tear you open on the hood of my car. And you forget the rest.”

Daryl made a little noise at that. Rick looked down at the crotch of the coveralls, so visibly tented that he was sure Daryl was naked underneath.  
  
“See,” he said, stepping forward and gripping Daryl through the fabric, confirming his suspicions, “your gorgeous little body already loves the idea.”  
  
“Ain't as gorgeous as yours,” he said, already moaning a little as Rick rubbed his cock.  
  
“Imagine how gorgeous we'll be together.” He let go of Daryl and reached around him, undoing the hood prop and closing it up. “Turn around.”  
  
Daryl did.  
  
“Unzip the suit,” Rick said, already grinding up against his lover's ass while he slipped off his tweed jacket and tossed it back toward the porch where it landed on the steps. Close enough. Daryl pushed back against his movements with a quiet whine, reaching up to take the zipper between his fingers and slide it down his torso.  
  
As soon as it was down, Rick snaked both hands inside the fabric, finding bare skin beneath his palms. He raked his hands over every inch of Daryl's chest and stomach before finding both nipples with his fingers, squeezing and twisting them in a way that made Daryl cry out softly.  
  
“You always naked under your coveralls, Mr. Dixon?”  
  
“Only when I'm hopin to get fucked.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Wanted you the minute you drove that Mustang into my shop. First time I've seen a driver even prettier than his car.”  
  
“That right?” Rick asked. “You've had this car for weeks.”  
  
“I'm patient.”  
  
“I'm not.” Rick wrapped his hand around the very tip of Daryl's bare cock, using a downward stroke to drag precum across his hardened flesh.  
  
“Fuck.”  
  
“That's not a bad idea,” Rick said. “Fuck my hand, darlin. Show me how bad you want me.”  
  
Daryl looked back over his shoulder, locking eyes with Rick's. The older man wasn't quite sure if his pupils were blown so wide from lust or simply adjusting to the last rays of fading sunlight. Probably both.  
  
Daryl bucked, rolling his hips into the warmth of his fist.  
  
“Little dry,” he said. Rick paused long enough to offer his palm to the younger man, who slathered it up with a sinful amount of spit, and then he had it back inside the coveralls, Daryl fucking into it in earnest.  
  
“There you go, sweetheart,” Rick said, wrapping his other arm around Daryl's waist and pulling his body more flush with his, the result being that every movement sent his ass grinding up against Rick's erection.  
  
“How's that feel, Mr. Dixon?”  
  
Daryl answered with a soft moan.  
  
“Only gonna get better.”  
  
“Please.”  
  
“Please what?”  
  
“Please fuck me. Or use your fingers. Anything. I need...”  
  
Rick laughed quietly in Daryl's ear before sucking on the skin behind his lobe.  
  
“How about this?” He used his left hand to find Daryl's, guiding it into the space between their bodies and squeezing it over his erection. Daryl didn't let go when Rick did, doing his best to rub his erection even at the awkward angle.  
  
“Yes. That'll work.”  
  
“Think you can take all of it?” Rick asked, his eyes fluttering at the touch.   
  
“Can take anything you shove in there. Just fuckin give it to me.”  
  
Rick let go of his lover's cock, eliciting a beautiful little groan of need from between Daryl's lips.  
  
“Look at me.”  
  
Daryl turned back around and Rick took a step back, admiring the way his skin peaked between the open fabric of the coveralls. The best part was his cock, sticking out of the V made by the bottom of the zipper, shiny with spit and flushed pink with his arousal.  
  
“Fuck, you are really something to look at, Mr. Dixon, you know that?”  
  
Rick stepped forward again before he could answer, claiming Daryl's lips with his. The younger man kissed him back feverishly, tangling his fingers in Rick's hair and lapping at Rick's tongue with his own like a dying animal finally led to water. The kiss went from frenzied to impossibly more hungry, Rick nipping at Daryl's lips, which only seemed to make him try to wrap his entire body around his.  
  
Finally, with lips burning from the assault, Rick pushed him away, ripping the coveralls down his arms to expose his shoulder. He bit into Daryl's clavicle, licking and sucking at the protrusion until he'd raised bruises all the way across it. And when he got done signing his claim in love bites, he pulled the jumpsuit down to Daryl's hips, using the opportunity to worship his body with his hands again. God, he wished it was lighter out so he could fucking see more of this.  
  
Like it heard his thoughts, the back porch light kicked on, bathing Daryl in soft yellow light. God bless the previous owners for installing motion detectors. He was going to send them a fucking fruit basket.  
  
“Finger yourself on the hood. As many as you can fit in there. Wanna see you stuff yourself full.”  
  
“Got somethin in there,” Daryl breathed, already trying to step out of the suit. Rick felt a small pang of remorse that he couldn't leave it on. Did they make assless work coveralls? Could they?  
  
“Do you now?” Rick asked. “Go on then, darlin. Show me.”  
  
Fully nude, Daryl turned around and splayed himself over the hood. Rick very nearly came at what he saw.  
  
There nestled in Daryl's ass was the end of the widest plug in Rick's toy arsenal, measuring at a good two and a half inches at its widest. The thick black stem of the base was still big enough to make for a nice visual, and the entire area around it was shiny with lube.   
  
“Oh darlin,” Rick said. “You really did have your hopes up, didn't you?”  
  
“Been in there all afternoon. But it ain't deep enough to… I keep tryin…” Daryl wiggled a little.  
  
“You need something longer, huh?” Rick asked. Daryl nodded vigorously. “God, it looks so fucking good though.” He gave the base a gentle thump. Daryl whimpered and rutted against the car, smearing precum on the hood. Rick had half a mind to watch him dry hump it to completion.  
  
But he was hornier than he could remember being in his entire adult life. And there was no way he was going to miss plunging his cock into _that_.  
  
“Please.”  
  
“Don't worry, Mr. Dixon. You're gonna get every last inch.”

“There's...” Daryl stopped talking, interrupted by the feeling of Rick gripping the base and starting the process of removing the plug.  
  
“There's what, sugar?” Rick asked, gently twisting.  
  
“Some stuff in the driver's seat.”  
  
Rick stopped and walked around to the front door of the Mustang, opening it up and pulling out a knapsack. He plopped it onto the hood within Daryl's view and opened the top flap to rummage through the contents.  
  
“You were prepared, weren't you, darlin?”  
  
“Don't like disappointin my customers.”  
  
“Oh trust me," Rick said, leaning around to look at the black plug again. "I'm already plenty satisfied with the work you've put in.”  
  
Rick walked back to his place behind Daryl and dropped the knapsack on the ground by their feet before setting back to work on the plug. The bigger size meant it took a little more effort to get it out, but some gentle twisting and a little pressure on Daryl's perineum released it, giving Rick a positively breathtaking view of Daryl's gaping hole. He effortlessly slid three fingers in, angling them toward Daryl's prostate and massaging it in little circles.  
  
Daryl gave him a long moan in response, rutting against the car some more.  
  
“God, sugar, you should see yourself.”  
  
Rick squatted down to pull something out of the knapsack, expertly stretching the dental dam across Daryl's gorgeously open ass a few moments later. He dove right in as soon as it was in place, pushing his tongue inside easily and lapping at the ring of muscles. His cock twitched at the way they pulsed around it in response to the sensation.  
  
“Tryin to kill me.” Daryl said softly. “Need you.”  
  
“You'll get me soon enough,” Rick said, flattening his tongue and massaging it against Daryl's hole, enjoying the up close and personal view that it gave him. Daryl had to know how gorgeously fucking defiled he looked right now. He just had to.  
  
“Ri-Mr. Grimes, please.”  
  
“Alright,” Rick conceded, dipping his head to give Daryl's balls a teasing little lick before standing up and letting the dental damn flutter to the ground. “Shh now.”  
  
He made quick work of his belt and slacks, shoving them down his thighs to pool around his ankles. He reached down one more time to grab the bottle of lube from the knapsack, slicking himself up, and then he pushed inside Daryl with ease, losing himself in the warm heat of his lover's willing body.  
  
The younger man sighed in relief below him.  
  
“Finally get what you want?” Rick asked, pausing to enjoy the sensation of being inside of someone, inside of Daryl. God that feeling of sliding inside for the first time never got fucking old.  
  
“Nope,” Daryl said. “Wanted to be fucked. If you're gonna just stand there, we can talk about that twelve grand again.”  
  
“Oh don't worry, Mr. Dixon,” Rick said. “You're about to be heavily compensated.” He punctuated this statement by drawing himself nearly all the way out and plunging back in. Daryl bit his lip, his hands scrambling for purchase. The younger man managed to wrap his fingers over the sides of the hood right around the time Rick's hands found his hips, gripping them tightly and using them to pull Daryl's body into every single roll of his own.  
  
Pulling and thrusting and thrusting and pulling. Until the world melted away and the back yard became nothing but the sounds of slapping and a single continuous low, broken moan leaking out from between Daryl's lips.  
  
“Am I paying you hard enough yet?”  
  
“Mhm,” Daryl said, the reply groaned out between his teeth.  
  
“Good, because you know what I was thinking?” Rick asked, slipping his hand up under Daryl's stomach and yanking so that he was bent more upright over the car, giving him space to reach around and grab his cock.  
  
“Oh fuck,” Daryl said, his mouth hanging open. A little drool leaked out, pooling on the hood before starting a slow run toward the front bumper. “Wh-what?”  
  
“You did such a great restoration job,” Rick said, running his hand up and down the other man's length with a vigor that matched his forceful thrusts. “She could use a little bit of a fresh look too.”  
  
“Huh?” Daryl said, clearly struggling to do anything that even resembled thought.  
  
“She could use a new paint job, don't you think, Mr. Dixon?”  
  
Daryl looked back at him, eyes dark with lust.  
  
“You want… I'm not… I'm g-” Daryl moaned again. Rick nodded at him, both permission and a confirmation.  
  
“Both of us.”  
  
“Oh God.” Daryl's forehead thumped against the metal with a little clang and then Rick felt it, Daryl's cock twitching in his hand. He moved his arm up, gripping Daryl across the shoulders and yanking his body upright just in time to watch the rest of his cum spurt out across the hood. Daryl went limp in his arms.  
  
“Here you go,” Rick said, slipping out of him and leaning him back over onto a more pristine part of the car. “You just rest and watch. Can you do that for me?”  
  
Daryl turned his head to look at him, nodding.  
  
“Can do that.”  
  
“Maybe a little more than that,” Rick said, offering him his hand. Daryl spit in it without being asked. And Rick resolved for the 1200th time since they'd met to never ever let Daryl go.  
  
He pulled the flaps of his button-up out of the way and wrapped his hand around his own cock, starting a relentless pace. He knew he wasn't far. Couldn't be with all that build up and teasing and Daryl's wonderful ass.  
  
“You look hot as fuck right now,” Daryl said.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Gonna look even hotter when you cum for me.”  
  
“Keep talking,” Rick said, squeezing himself on every upstroke, huffing out his breaths.  
  
“Go on. I washed it earlier just so we could dirty it up.” Rick locked eyes with Daryl and the sultry fucked-out smile on his face told him that he wasn't lying. He reached out with his other hand and found Daryl's on the hood, squeezing it tightly while he came with a gruff moan, his orgasm joining the streaks already spread out over the hood.  
  
Rick turned just enough to lean on the bumper, still holding onto Daryl's hand, panting while he came down.  
  
“One more thing,” Daryl said. “Just to make sure you really never forget this.”  
  
Rick raised his eyebrows. How the Christing fuck could he ever forget this?  
  
But Daryl pulled his hand loose from his and slapped it down into some of the cum on the hood, smearing his and Rick's together all over the dark blue paint. He finished up the action by running his tongue all the way up the length of his hand. Rick's heart skipped a beat or twenty.   
  
“God, I love you, Daryl,” he said, feeling like it was the best possible time to break character. “When my brain starts working again, I might even be able to tell you how much.”  
  
“I love you too, Rick,” Daryl said, sliding off the hood and standing up so he could wrap his arms around Rick's middle. “Mr. Fancy Museum Curator.”  
  
Then he rested his head on Rick's shoulder, contenting himself with running his fingers through Rick's sweat-loosened waves.  
  
“You smell like strawberries again,” he said, sighing happily.  
  
“You smell like sex and motor oil," Rick replied. Daryl mm'd softly.   
  
“So when do you start?” Daryl asked. And Rick could hear the real question there: When do I have to start seeing you less often than I'd like?   
  
“They want me to come down for a tour Monday, but I'm not sure.” Rick pushed Daryl far enough back to look at him, stroking cheek with his thumb. “I'll be back every weekend. I promise. And I'll scope out the nice cars in town so I can point them out when you come for spring break.”  
  
Daryl smiled, nodding and tilting his head into Rick's touch.   
  
“I'll send you pictures of me putting stuff in my ass.”  
  
Rick laughed.  
  
“Can send me pictures of your face too, you know? I'm pretty fond of it.”  Rick kissed him on the forehead.  
  
“I will. And I'll make you brownies and send them to you. Maybe make some other stuff too and learn how to can it too so you don't live off pizza and hamburgers. Care packages, you know.”  
  
“And I'll tell you how much I still love you as often as you need to hear it.”  
  
“And I'll give Shane hell since you won't be around to do it.”  
  
“Thank God. Between you and Andrea, he just might grow up into a fully functioning adult.”  
  
“You're not even a fully functioning adult, Rick,” Daryl teased, reaching down to start pulling his coveralls back on.  
  
“I am with you.” He kissed Daryl softly. “Thank you for this. It was perfect.”  
  
“Was nothin.” Daryl finished zipping himself back into his suit. “Proud of you.”  
  
“You know," Rick said, reaching down to pull up his slacks. He buttoned them but didn't bother doing up the belt. "That night you made the archery team, there was one other thing we were supposed to do.”   
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“How about we finally go have that nice dinner in Charlotte now that we have something to celebrate again?” Rick asked, brushing his fingers through Daryl's hair. The younger man chewed on his bottom lip while he considered it.   
  
“Alright,” he said. “But I'm gonna need a shower. And to hose off the Mustang. Can't leave her like this no matter how good it looks.”  
  
Rick laughed. The history nerd and the car guy. Who knew it could work so damn well?  
  
“I'll go start us a shower. You come join me when you're done?”  
  
“Deal.”  
  
Rick slipped his jacket back on and cleaned up the little bit of a mess they'd left on the ground by the car, throwing it all into the knapsack before heading into the house.  
  
All he could think of on his way to the bathroom was how blissfully happy he was. He had the love of his life and a job so suited to him that he could hardly believe it really existed, let alone that it was his. What more could he have ever possibly hoped for?  
  
And maybe five hours was a long way away. But as cheesy as it felt to say it in his head, he knew that if their love had made it through everything else they'd been through together, it could more than survive a little distance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a [picture](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/3f/d4/db/3fd4dbe25e1d51415e5a3162ea89f778.jpg) that is important to this chapter. We'll call it a visual aid. 
> 
> Also, I felt like I should give you all a heads up that we're about three chapters from the end of this story, give or take. This chapter is the last sex scene for the canon version of TAOI. Thank you all so much for taking this journey with me, Rick, and his little duck. ♥


	44. Two by Four

Daryl took on the task of driving both of them to Charlotte. Rick had spent a good portion of his day driving already, and it seemed like the right thing to do to let him take a break, especially knowing the other man had to turn right back around and do it all again on Monday.  
  
The restaurant smelled like heaven when they walked in, the heavy aroma of warm garlic hanging in the air. Daryl inhaled. He'd grown up on frozen dinners supplemented by the occasional fresh deer or squirrel, and real meals cooked at home or eaten in a restaurant were probably one of his favorite things about his new life, even if the latter still made him a little uncomfortable.  
  
“This is nice,” he said, sliding into the booth seat across from Rick. The host had lead them to a little table tucked away in the corner, and Daryl was grateful for that. It made him feel more secure, less like people were staring at him while he ate and questioning his lack of proper table manners.   
  
“I can't get over that outfit,” Rick said, smiling at him before grabbing a piece of bread and dipping it in a little herb-infused olive oil.  
  
Daryl hadn't wanted to feel out of place at the restaurant. That, and the fact that he'd always taken a little pleasure in wearing Rick's clothes had lead to him stealing a pair of black slacks and a light gray tweed jacket from his boyfriend's closet. He felt a little ridiculous, but not nearly as ridiculous as he would've felt walking into a place that nice in his torn up oil-stained jeans.  
  
“Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?” the waiter asked, sliding two cork coasters onto the table.    
  
“Coke,” Daryl replied instantly. He regretted it the second the word was out of his mouth. Was is okay to order a soda somewhere this nice? Fuck if he knew. And what would he order instead? Iced tea?  
  
“Sure thing. And you, sir?”  
  
“You drivin' home too, sugar?” Rick asked. Daryl nodded. “I'll have a glass of Pinot Noir then. And a water.”  
  
“I'll get that right out for you,” he said. “Any appetizers?”  
  
Daryl thought it best to let Rick handle that one. The older man declined politely.    
  
“So,” Rick said, tearing off another bite of bread. “Test go okay?”  
  
“Piece of cake,” Daryl said. “Only class I was ever havin trouble in was yours.”  
  
“I seem to remember you doing pretty well in my class.”  
  
“Yeah, because I was workin my ass off and wanted to impress you,” Daryl said, taking a big bite of bread. And holy shit it was the best bread he'd ever eaten. Hearty with a nice, thick crust that he had to rip with his teeth.  
  
“Mission accomplished on that last part, I reckon.”  
  
“Guess the interview people didn't know about us then? Was hopin they were far enough away.”

“No, they knew.”  
  
“But you got it anyway?”  
  
“They let me explain. Guess they were satisfied.”  
  
“That's even better,” Daryl said, pausing for a moment when the waiter brought their drinks so he and Rick could put their orders in. “Least you don't gotta worry about them findin out.”  
  
“That's true. I can just relax and focus on the museum. On…” Rick looked down at the table, rubbing his hands together. He let out a nervous little tut and then looked back up at Daryl, his eyes glittering. “I'm going to run a museum.”  
  
“Mhm. How close to home were you when you found out?”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Just wonderin how much of it you already got planned in your head.”  
  
“C'mon, sugar, I haven't even seen the space,” Rick said. “Or the budget for that matter.”  
  
Daryl gave him a look.  
  
“Sure, Rick. You probably barely thought about it.”  
  
“Well...”  
  
“Well?”  
  
“Fine. You got me," Rick said, throwing up his hands in mock surrender. "Not sure if I want to do chronological or divide it up into theories. Maybe both? Maybe I can mix in a little history for the time period too.”  
  
Daryl smiled. There was his Rick. The fucking nerd.  
  
“What's that look for, little duck?”  
  
“Nothin. Just love you.”  
  
“Love you too,” Rick said, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “I'm kind of hoping there's room in the budget for me to do a little exploration. If a good deal of what was left really is under the water right there off the coast… Not that people haven't already been looking.”  
  
“Thought you weren't into the Indiana Jones shit?” Daryl teased. His mind involuntarily flashed to an image of Rick in the full costume, the classic fedora sitting on top of his waves.  
  
Indiana Grimes cracking a whip across his ass. He cleared his throat right around the time that the waiter came with two steaming plates of food. Classic spaghetti and meatballs for Daryl. Lobster risotto for Rick. Fancy motherfucker.  
  
“Maybe I'm a little into it,” Rick admitted after sampling a bite of his food. “But only because I'll still be doing the other bit.”  
  
“No tests at your museum though, huh, Professor Curator?”  
  
“Sure,” Rick said. “We can do trivia nights as a benefit.”  
  
“You're seriously messed up,” Daryl said, smiling and shaking his head.    
  
“Who's more messed up though, darlin? Me? Or the guy who willingly dates me?”  
  
Daryl rolled his eyes and used his bread to help push a bite of spaghetti onto his fork.  
  
“Still you,” he mumbled quietly.  
  
“What was that?” Rick asked, nudging his foot with his boot.  
  
“Nothin. Nothin.”  
  
“How's the food, gentlemen?” the waiter asked, stopping back by with a refill for Daryl.  
  
“Everything's great, thank you,” Rick said. Daryl nodded in agreement.  
  
It really, really was.

* * *

  
Daryl had to wake Rick up when they got home. He put his hand on the other man's, nudging him gently until sleepy blue eyes opened to meet his.  
  
“Mornin, cupcake,” Daryl said, fingering through Rick's hair. “You gonna come on in or are you gonna sleep in the car?”  
  
Rick sat up a little straighter and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index fingers before pinching the bridge of his nose.  
  
“Depends,” he said. “Where are you sleeping?”  
  
“In the nice bed upstairs. I missed it.”  
  
“Should've said something, darlin. I would've switched the mattresses.”  
  
“By yourself?”  
  
“Of course not. That's what I have Shane for.”

Daryl shook his head and reached across Rick's body to open the door.  
  
“C'mon, Sleepin Beauty.”  
  
Daryl slid out of the Camry and made sure Rick did the same without the wine or his long day leading him back to sleep. A quick walk across the yard with Rick's arm slung around his middle followed by a quick curse at himself for forgetting to turn on the porch light, and they were heading through the front door.  
  
“Weird,” Daryl said, shutting it and turning the deadbolt. “Thought I locked that.”  
  
“Oh well. Doesn't seem like anybody robbed us.”  
  
Daryl shrugged and let Rick push him against the wall by the door, smiling into the wine-flavored kiss he planted on him.  
  
“Spoke too soon,” Rick said, pulling away. “Seems like someone stole one of our light bulbs.” He flicked the switch in the front hallway up and down a couple more times.  
  
“Those assholes,” Daryl joked. “Want me to grab a bulb?”  
  
“We'll worry about it tomorrow. I'm gonna go get the rest of the brownies and we'll curl up on the couch.”  
  
“Shouldn't you go to bed, old man?”  
  
“Better watch it or I'll come back with more than brownies.” Rick nudged him toward the living room, giving him a smack on the ass, and then he staggered down the hallway toward the kitchen.  
  
What a fucking dork.  
  
Daryl groped around the side of the living room door for the light switch, flipping it on, but nothing happened. He sighed. Well, hell. Had it stormed while they were gone? Did they even own a flashlight?  
  
He vaguely recalled there being one in the entertainment cabinet. At any rate, there were matches in there for the candles on the coffee table.  
  
Hands out in front of him he started feeling his way around, moving cautiously so he wouldn't bang a shin into the coffee table. One step and another and he tripped slightly on the edge of the area rug, laughing quietly at himself.  
  
“Nice night out with your boyfriend?”  
  
“Yeah, it wa-” Daryl froze, the temperature in his veins instantly dropping by about fifty degrees.   
  
No.  
  
“Can't believe you want to try and take me to court.”  
  
No no no. This was a nightmare. There was no fucking way this was happening. Not there. Not then. And Jesus Christ, did that man have some sort of happiness barometer? Some sort of “everything in Daryl's life is going great, so I better go fuck it up” goddamn sensor?  
  
“After everything I've done for you.” Daryl could barely see Will drop a stack of papers on the coffee table. Shit, had the summons really taken that long to get to him? Or had it just taken him that long to get properly pissed off about it? “I raised you and fed you. Put clothes on your back and sent you off to that damn college. I teach you one little lesson in gratitude, and you turn your back on your whole family. Then you actually have the damn nerve to turn around and sue me.”  
  
“How'd you find me here?” Daryl asked, clasping his hands together to try and stop them from shaking. He knew for a fact that Andrea had made sure his dad wouldn't get his address from any documents. And he sure as shit hadn't been sending him post cards.  
  
“I can track a ten point buck through fifty square miles of Georgia woods, and you don't think I can find my own goddamn son when I know where he's gonna be for at least half the week?”  
  
Jesus Christ. The bastard had followed them and Daryl had missed it. Again. How the fuck did this keep happening?

“What's your plan then?” Daryl asked. “Hit me until I call off the lawsuit? Until I tell you I'll come home? Beat me up until you get the perfect son you always wanted to parade around town like a prize-winnin pig?”  
  
“Think we both know you comin' home ain't on the table anymore.”  
  
Daryl swallowed, already moving away from his father as his eyes adjusted to the dark, letting him see the shadow of the man standing by their couch.  
  
“Daryl, you in there?” Rick called. “Lights are out in the kitchen too. Hopefully something just tripped a breaker.”  
  
Daryl's head whipped in the direction of the doorway. Yeah, something had definitely done that.   
  
“Rick, my da-” was all he managed to get out before something crashed into his midsection, sending all the air whooshing out of his lungs in a loud grunt. Daryl fell to his knees, wheezing and gripping the side of the coffee table.  
  
“Daryl?” Rick called out in alarm. The world around him seemed to slow down. One second stretched into an eternity while he tried to reorient himself in space and time.  
  
Dad. Hurting me. Can't breathe. Have to move. Have to get away.  
  
A bright light came filtering in from the doorway. The flashlight app on Rick's phone. Had to be. Daryl caught sight of dingy black work pants long-faded into gray moving toward him.  
  
The voice in the back of his head said only one word: move.  
  
Daryl scrambled across the rug, struggling with the effort to make his lungs work again. To his feet. He had to get to his feet. He pushed up on the coffee table, managing to stand up right around the time his body let him suck in a breath.  
  
“Don't even think about it, you ungrateful little shit.” His dad took another swing at him, a goddamn 2x4 of all things clutched in his evil fucking devil hands. Daryl somehow managed to mostly avoid it, the end of the piece of lumber just grazing his arm.  
  
“You motherfucker,” Rick said. The glowing light of the cell phone fell to the floor, rolling over and throwing the flashlight beam up at the ceiling. Daryl watched Rick crash into his father, shoving him into the coffee table where he landed on and shattered one of the candles. Illuminated by the ghostly glow the phone cast around the room, Daryl watched the momentum carry Will Dixon over the edge, the man and his weapon lost in the dark for a brief moment.  
  
Without wasting time, Rick snatched up the cell and grabbed Daryl's hand, clutching it tightly and pulling him toward the hall.  
  
“Bedroom,” Rick said quietly. They both raced for the staircase, sprinting up them, away from the heavy footsteps of his father who had recovered enough to renew his pursuit.  
  
“Jesus Christ, Jesus fucking Christ,” Daryl breathed, sliding down onto the floor next to the bed. He could already hear his father coming up the hall. This coupled with the sounds of the upstairs doors opening and shutting while his dad tried each room and found it empty. The utility room. The linen closet. Rick's study. The other bathroom.  
  
Closer and closer until the footsteps stopped outside their bedroom door. The locked door knob jiggled.  
  
"Knock knock," his father said quietly, jiggling the knob again.   
  
“Get in the closet,” Rick whispered right into his ear, the words so quiet that Daryl barely heard them.  
  
“Nuh uh. Can't just leave you out here. Call the cops and hide with me.”  
  
“No time. I've got a plan, Daryl. Go,” Rick said, shoving the other man toward the closet at the exact moment his dad gave a loud pound on the door. Daryl somehow managed to get in and tuck himself away in the rack of Rick's slacks before the panic attack started.  
  
Oh God oh God oh God.

He forced himself to breathe. He had to calm himself down. He had to be aware enough to know that his dad wasn't out there murdering the man he loved. Deep breaths. Nose, mouth, nose, mouth; and he could still feel himself inches from panic, but he'd somehow managed to push it back enough to focus.  
  
“...fucking faggot...” Another crash. The walls rattled with it. Daryl found his thumbnail and tore into with his teeth. The banging continued. “Let me in, you good for nothing…” Crash. “Fairy piece of…”  
  
The loud cracking noise of wood splintering apart tore its way through Daryl's eardrum, weaving its way through his veins to twine around his heart.  
  
“Rick!”  
  
Loud footsteps bounded straight for the closet, kicking open the folding doors with ease. There was a brief moment, his dad framed in the doorway by what little light leaked in from the night outside, when Daryl thought Rick had abandoned him. But he couldn't believe that. _Wouldn't_ believe that.  
  
Still, where the fuck was he?  
  
“Your boyfriend's hiding under the bed,” his dad said, raising the 2x4. “He's as useless as you are.” Daryl shook his head. There was nowhere for him to run to. There was nothing Daryl could do but cower in the corner and hope he survived until Rick carried out whatever plan he'd come up with. He braced himself for impact, squeezing his eyes shut.  
  
But nothing happened. Not to him, at least.   
  
In the darkness behind his father, Daryl heard a click, a click so distinct that there was no mistaking what made the sound. A hundred movies and TV shows and Daryl didn't need to be able to see to know that Rick had a gun to the back of Will Dixon's head.  
  
“Drop it,” Rick said, his voice cutting through the air with a cold fury that made Daryl's arms erupt in goosebumps. “Drop it or so help me, I will end you.”  
  
The 2x4 clattered to the floor. Daryl reached out for it, pulling it out of his dad's reach.

“Hands behind your back,” Rick said. “Slowly.”  
  
Growling low in the back of his throat, Will did as he was told.  
  
“Sweetheart, you know where they are.”

It took a second for the words to cut through Daryl's shock and another second for Daryl to figure out what he was meant to do. He got up slowly, slipping past his father and Rick in the doorway of the closet.  
  
Using the dim screen of his flip phone as a light, he rifled through the bottom drawer of night stand, finding the real pair of handcuffs tucked into the bottom corner between two pornos. He pocketed the keys.  
  
“Not an inch, you piece of shit, I mean it,” Rick said. “Go on, Daryl.”  
  
Daryl put the handcuffs around Will's wrists, making it a point to tighten them a little farther than he should've. His dad grunted. Good.  
  
“What now? Gonna turn me over to the police?” Will asked.  
  
“No, I don't think I can let you off that easy,” Rick said. “Daryl, can you get the light, please? My back pocket.”  
  
Daryl reached into Rick's slacks and grabbed his phone, fiddling with it until he got the flashlight back on.  
  
“Let's escort Mr. Dixon to his car, shall we? I'm assuming it's parked somewhere close? Maybe down the street?”  
  
“Out back,” Will said through his teeth.  
  
Something told Daryl there was more to the plan than just seeing Will off the property, so he kept his mouth shut, taking it upon himself to light the way for Rick so he could lead his dad down the stairs and out to the rusty pickup truck sitting in the backyard. The sheer sight of it next to the Mustang felt like a desecration.  
  
Daryl opened the driver's side door, cringing at the wrenching squeak it made.  
  
"Cuff him to the wheel, darlin," Rick said. Daryl cautiously undid one wrist of the handcuffs and cuffed his father's right hand to the steering wheel. He made a show of putting the keys in the glove box, knowing full well it was too far for the bastard to reach them without asking for help.  
  
Explain that, motherfucker.   
  
“This ain't over,” Will said, turning to face down the barrel of Rick's Colt. He glared at Daryl, an exercise in pure audacity that only his father could possibly pull off.  
  
“No, I figured it wasn't,” Rick said. “I imagine if I let you drive away tonight unscathed, you'll come back. You'll try to teach him some sort of lesson again and again until, one day, you manage to finally do the unthinkable.”  
  
Will's answer was the heartless smile of the man Daryl had always known him to be.    
  
“Which is why you aren't.”  
  
“Aren't what?” Will asked.  
  
“Driving away unscathed.”  
  
Daryl didn't even have time to wonder what the hell Rick meant before the gun went off, echoing through the trees around their house. He jumped and cringed at the sound, his hand flying to his ear. It took a moment for him to realize that someone was screaming.  
  
“You motherfucker! You cocksucking fairy bastard!” Will Dixon was half-dangling from the truck, leaning on the side of the driver's seat, alternating between gasping in pain and yelling vitriol in Rick's direction. “You'll burn in hell for this!” In the light from the flashlight, Daryl could see the old man clutching his left knee, shiny red blood pouring out between his fingers.  
  
Rick whipped off his belt and leaned over, pulling it tight it around Will's thigh.  
  
“Now here's what you're gonna do,” Rick said. “Look at me so I know you're listening, you son of a bitch.”  
  
Will glared at him with unmitigated fury, gritting his teeth against the pain.  
  
“You're going to drive to the hospital. When they ask what happened, you're going to lie. Unless you'd like to explain how you tried to kill your son for the second time in six months. Be my fucking guest.”  
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
“Shutup.” Rick gave Will's knee a little shove with his hand, tearing a yell out of the other man. “Now, you're gonna get out of the hospital, hopefully after learning that you'll never walk quite right again. Then, you're gonna go to whatever cheap piece of shit lawyer was actually willing to represent someone like you, and you're going to tell him that you'd like to settle this case out of court, that you're feeling a little remorseful and want to take responsibility for what an absolute stain of human filth you are. And you're going to pay Daryl's medical bills until they are either paid off or until you are fucking dead, buried, and choking on the devil's dick. Do I make myself clear?”

“Go to hell.”  
  
“And if you ever step foot in our house again... Actually, if you ever step foot in the entire fucking state of North Carolina again, I will ram this Colt Python so far up your ass you'll be able to tell Satan exactly what it fucking tasted like before I blew your sorry head off.”

Rick grabbed Will roughly by the arm and yanked him upright, shoving him into the driver's seat with one hand, the Python still gripped tightly in the other.  
  
“Now get the hell out of our yard.”  
  
Rick slammed the door and backed away from the truck, waiting for Will to start the engine up, keeping the gun trained on the old rust bucket until it was gone.  

As soon as the tail lights disappeared from view, Daryl sank down onto the grass, the cool evening dew seeping through his stolen slacks while he sucked in cool air.  
  
What the hell just happened?   
  
“Daryl? Sugar?” Rick slid down on his knees next to him, laying the gun on the grass and taking his face in his hands. He stroked Daryl's cheeks softly with his thumbs. “Sweetheart. Are you with me?”  
  
Daryl kept his eyes pointed downward, the quarter moon catching the pool of blood nearby. Over. It was finally over. No way in hell his dad would ever fuck with him again, not after that, not knowing that Rick wasn't screwing around about protecting him. He nodded, still staring at the dark fluid, transfixed by what it represented.  
  
The end. The real and true end of a lifelong battle.  
  
“Think so,” he said after a while, finally moving his eyes to Rick's. Even in the dark, he could see the concern there.  
  
“You hurt?” Rick asked. “Do we need to go to the hospital?”  
  
“I'm good.” A little bruised around the middle, but he knew enough about pain to know nothing was seriously wrong.  
  
“I didn't...” Rick ran his fingers through the younger man's hair. “I didn't scare you with all that, did I?” He kept stroking Daryl's wisps while he talked. “Just knew it was only gonna go one of two ways. Since kicking his ass obviously didn't work the first time.”  
  
“You didn't.” Daryl reached up and found Rick's hand on top of his head, curling his fingers around it. “Just tryin to wrap my head around the fact that it's over.”  
  
“You think so? We can find you another place to stay when I'm out of town if we need to. Didn't Aaron have room?”  
  
“He won't try again,” Daryl said, so sure of that fact that he didn't know what to do with himself. “Picked on his wife because he knew she wouldn't fight back. Picked on his kids because he knew we couldn't. He ain't gonna go into a fight he can't win. And you made it pretty clear he's gonna lose.”  
  
“I meant it,” Rick said, sliding off his knees to sit down next to him on the grass. “You're the single most important thing in my life. I will not lose you. Not like that.”  
  
“Still a little weird,” Daryl said, leaning against Rick. “You'd think after this long, it wouldn't be.”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“Havin you care about me that much. Havin everyone else...”  
  
“You'll get used to it,” Rick said, squeezing him tighter. “Think I pretty much speak for everyone when I say you're stuck with us.”  
  
“Hope so,” Daryl said. Half a year and a lifetime ago, he wouldn't have even let himself hope for a single friend, and now he had a whole family of them.  
  
“You are,” Rick said. “I wouldn't have even thought about taking that job if I didn't know how many people you have on your team.”  
  
Daryl smiled.  
  
“Tara'd like you calling it a team.”  
  
“She would,” Rick said with a gentle chuckle. Daryl nuzzled a little closer, smiling at the feeling of Rick's beard on his forehead and the light smell of strawberries in the air.  
  
“Think we should go finish those brownies,” Daryl said finally.  
  
“We don't have to,” Rick said. “It's been a long night.”  
  
“Nope,” Daryl replied, already standing up and offering Rick his hand. “He fucked up the last thing we celebrated. We're gonna finish this one off right.”  
  
Rick took hold and let Daryl pull him up off the lawn. He reached down for the gun, checking the safety again before tucking it into the back of his pants.  
  
“Packin heat, Mr. Musuem Curator?” Daryl said with a wink. And damn if Rick's smile didn't very nearly erase the memory of the past half hour or so from his mind.  
  
“You bet your ass, Desperado,” Rick countered with a little tilt of his head, turning and leading them both back toward the back door.   
  
A few minutes saw the main breaker for the house thrown back on and the two of them curled up on the couch with the chocolate explosion brownies and _Daredevil_ on Netflix.  
  
“I love you, little duck,” Rick said, somewhere mid-brownie while they watched Matt Murdock kick the absolute shit out of some scumbag. “More than any words in any language ever invented could ever properly let me express.”  
  
“Can't really top somethin like that,” Daryl muttered. “But I love you too, old man. More than classic cars and Dean Winchester's legs.”  
  
“I'll take it,” Rick said, kissing him on the temple and pulling him a little closer, careful not to disturb the new bruise on his torso.  
  
They woke up together on the couch in the morning, slotted together like puzzle pieces with Netflix kindly asking if they were still watching. And despite the unwelcome visit the night before and the fresh pain it had brought with it, in the soft morning sun filtering in through through the windows, Daryl thought the future had never looked brighter than it did right then. 


	45. Christmas Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA the last real chapter before the epilogue. I'm not crying; you are. 
> 
> I'm kidding. I'm totally crying.

The blood in the backyard had washed away by Christmas Eve morning like it had never been there at all—a distant memory from an old life they were no longer living. Rick woke up alone save the fuzzy yellow duck propped up on the pillow next to him with Christmas ribbon tied around its neck. A quick feel of the sheets told him Daryl had been awake and out of bed for a while.  
  
Pity. He'd had one hell of a dream about his lover and a novelty plastic candy cane, and he wouldn't have said no to a festive little fuck before they got too into the day's events.  
  
He lazily glanced at the antique alarm clock. He and Daryl had decided to host a group dinner for all their friends on Christmas Eve before heading down to Georgia to spend Christmas Day with Rick's parents.  
  
9:07 a.m.  
  
Dinner wasn't until five.  
  
By Rick's calculation, that was still plenty of time to jingle Daryl's bells.  
  
The curator padded downstairs in nothing but his sweatpants—no need to put anything on when he was just going to take it right back off again. If he was lucky, he could fuck Daryl on the counter next to the gingerbread house. If he was really lucky, he could drizzle Daryl's skin with eggnog, call his ass the Christmas spirit, and really enjoy getting into it.  
  
“Darlin?” Rick asked, sniffing the air on his way down the hall. It smelled like roast turkey and brown sugar. He silently thanked whatever gods had decided to bless him with a boyfriend who could cook.   
  
“In here,” Daryl called back.  
  
“Hope you're not doin anything too imp-” Rick stopped dead in his tracks, frozen in the doorway into the kitchen.  
  
Whoops.  
  
“Oh my.” Maggie stared at him wide-eyed from where she was currently using a patch of counter to knead what seemed to be bread dough. The same patch, incidentally, that Rick had just been fantasizing about using to plow his boyfriend on.    
  
“Daryl, you have really got to have us over more often,” Aaron said, giving Rick a teasing little flick of his eyes before passing Daryl a turkey baster from the utensil drawer.  
  
“Right? Merry Christmas to me,” Eric said, his hand wrapped tightly around a spoon buried deep in their biggest blue mixing bowl.  
  
Rick felt his cheeks grow warmer. God, it was like one of those nightmares people have about going to school in their underwear. Except it wasn't a dream and Daryl and his friends were all staring at him. Rick resisted the urge to cover his body with his arms.  
  
“Morning, sunshine. That a candy cane in your pants or are you just happy to see us?” Tara took a sip of coffee from where she sat at the kitchen table before plopping her feet up in one of the other chairs.  
  
“Sorry, didn't realize anyone was...” Wait. Rick cleared his throat and looked down. Definitely a candy-cane-in-the-pants situation. He glanced at Daryl, who had obviously noticed too judging by the regretful little way he was biting his lip.  
  
“Thank Santa for that,” Eric said, going back to his mixing without taking his eyes off him.  
  
“I'm gonna just...” Rick turned around slipped back out of the kitchen, immediately heading for the guest bedroom since it was closer. He rifled through the dresser and grabbed the first fresh clothes he laid his hands on before slipping into the downstairs shower. Five minutes with his dick under icy cold water, a fresh pair of sweats and an old Salem Witch Museum shirt, and he was ready to brave the kitchen again with the full intention of acting like nothing had happened.   
  
“Morning,” he said. And it seemed like everyone was willing to keep their mouths shut, for a minute anyway. He was about halfway to the coffee pot before the room around him started snickering.  
  
“Alright, stop embarrassing my boyfriend,” Daryl grumbled.  
  
“Didn't look like he has anything to be embarrassed about,” Eric said with a little quirk of his eyebrow. “Congratulations by the way, Daryl.”  
  
“Eric,” Aaron said, slapping him on the arm with a wire whisk.  
  
“Where's Glenn?” Rick asked, ignoring everything else, because damn't that had been his plan and he was sticking to it.  
  
“Store run.” Maggie smiled warmly at him before slamming her dough roll down and putting her whole body into another knead. “He was the only one willing to brave the last-minute crowd.”  
  
“'Brave' is probably an understatement,” Rick said, stopping to wrap his arms around Daryl's waist from behind. “I don't envy him at all.”  
  
Daryl stopped mixing the cornbread dressing with his hands long enough to lean back and let Rick kiss him on the temple, and then he dug back in, squishing the mush through his fingers. It looked damn good even uncooked.  
  
“Need anyone to taste that?” Rick asked, leaning up over Daryl's shoulder to get a better look at the big pan. The curator reached for the large metal spoon sitting next to it on a paper towel, earning himself a wet little slap on the back of the hand.  
  
“Go sit down,” Daryl said.  
  
“I can't help?” Rick asked.

“Not if you helpin is leanin over my shoulder trying to taste all the food.” Daryl turned his head to look back at him. And the stern look on his face was positively adorable, like a five year old trying to wag their finger.  
  
Rick raised his hands in mock surrender, taking a step back.

“Just tell me what you need me to do, sugar.”  
  
“Wash your hands and finish mixin this up?” Daryl asked, already starting to push globs of moist cornbread off his fingers back into the pan. “I gotta baste the turkey again and check on the ham.”  
  
“You got it, little duck.”  
  
Rick did as his boyfriend asked, washing up and burying his hands in the mess to mash it all together. He had just finished getting all the celery worked in when he heard the front door open and shut. Glenn walked into the kitchen a moment later, sporting a few sacks of groceries and a bloody scratch across his cheek. He had the wide eyes of a man who had seen some serious shit, and stood there shaking his head at nothing in particular.  
  
“Glenn, oh my God.” Maggie dropped her dough ball on the counter and rushed over, taking the sacks out of his hands. “What happened?”  
  
“There was only one pack of cranberries left. Guess that redheaded lady wanted them more than I did.”  
  
“Someone clawed your face over cranberries?” Maggie asked.  
  
“Not exactly,” Glenn said. “She hit me with her purse. Caught the million keys hanging on the side of it.”  
  
“There's some stuff in the downstairs bathroom, Glenn,” Rick said. “Some peroxide and a band-aid if you want one.”  
  
“Thanks, man,” Glenn said. “I got canned cranberry sauce instead. Hope that's okay.”  
  
“S'alright.” Daryl started sorting through the stuff Glenn had brought back. “I'm probably tryin to do too much anyway. Just my first time doin anything like this. Thanks for going and taking a purse to the face for me.”  
  
“No problem, dude. I'm gonna...” Glenn pointed at his face and then gestured toward the hallway.  
  
“I'll help you,” Maggie said, following him on out.  
  
The rest of the morning and afternoon passed pretty uneventfully after that. Everyone pitched in to help Daryl get the dinner finished. While they waited for oven timers to go off, Eric finally properly told them all how Aaron proposed—with a watch Eric had been coveting for months and a piston ring he'd saved from his first car, with the foresight that someday he'd give it to the man or woman he chose to spend his life with.  
  
“Guess I can't steal that idea someday for Daryl then,” Rick said. He could just imagine tracking down some part from some famous motorcycle or car and explaining to Daryl how he hunted for months to find the perfect thing to put on his finger.  
  
“Absolutely not.” Eric admired the shaped and polished piece of metal on his finger with the same reverence that Daryl usually gave to the engine of the Mustang. His tone left no room for doubt—he and Aaron definitely owned that particular ring idea as far as their circle went.  
  
“He might propose to you first,” Maggie said, getting up out of Glenn's lap to walk over and check her homemade bread baking next to the ham in the oven. She pulled it out, setting it on top of the stove to cool.  
  
“Ain't been long enough,” Daryl said.  
  
It was true. It felt like the two of them had known each other their whole lives and like they'd been together damn near forever, but it really hadn't been that long, even if they'd been to hell and back hand-in-hand since that first class where that nervous, adorable boy first started to captivate Rick's heart, mind, and soul.  
  
The curator took a look around the kitchen, noting that the only people missing from their little celebration so far were Shane and Andrea, the former Rick knew would never arrive before he thought the food was done cooking. But everyone else in his new family was there.  
  
There was Tara, the amazing woman who had looked at the adversity facing both men and laughed in its face. Aaron, who had let Daryl lean on him and even offered him a place to stay when the weight of helping Rick through his depression had become almost too much for his sweetheart to take. Eric, the frisky master of cupcakes who had gone from simply being a part of the group Rick used to advise to someone he deeply valued as a friend. Glenn, the sweet kid who always seemed so willing to step up to help those he cared for. Maggie, the fierce best friend who he'd watched slap Will Dixon across the face without a trace of fear.  
  
And Daryl—his sugar, his little duck—the man he knew he would be sharing his life with no matter when they got engaged or married, or even if they never did either.  
  
Each one of the people sitting around his and Daryl's kitchen had a smile on their face and eyes slightly glassy from laughing so hard. More importantly, on a holiday meant for family and joy, every single one of them was happy. And it wouldn't last forever, because good times always give way to bad times before giving way to good ones again. The cycle of life repeats over and over and on and on.    
  
But some things are constant, and good times or bad times or anything in between, with these people sitting around his festively decorated kitchen, with Daryl—sweet, beautiful, strong Daryl—Rick knew he would always have love. And damn if that wasn't worth everything it had taken to get it.  


* * *

Daryl let Shane and Andrea in the front door about ten minutes 'til five, taking some of the wrapped boxes from Andrea's hands and helping her and Shane set them all over near the tree he and Rick had decorated the previous weekend.  
  
“Damn,” Shane said, taking a step back and looking it over.  
  
Christmas decorations for Daryl growing up had always been a sparse affair involving some pitiful tree cut down in the woods behind their house and a couple boxes of cracked and faded ornaments that his dad had purchased at the Dollar Store so long ago that Daryl couldn't remember not having them. It would have been enough if they'd had all the warm fuzzy feelings of love to go with them, but they never had.    
  
So when Rick got his first paycheck from the museum and told him they could get a tree together, Daryl had gone a little nuts. A six foot artificial tree, thick and with flocked foliage stood in the living room, the colorful light-up star on top nearly bumping against the ceiling. Each branch held an ornament. There was no set theme or even a cohesive color scheme—Daryl had simply chosen things he and Rick liked, and the result was a wide array of everything from rustic squirrels to little stacks of books to a small turquoise blue convertible. It was a mess, but it was their mess.  
  
“Yeah I know,” Daryl said, reaching out to thumb over the little silver letter “D” on their tree hanging next to a matching “R.”  
  
“Did you guys leave any ornaments for anyone else to buy?” Shane teased.  
  
“Nope,” Daryl said. “Told us you were shoppin there next, and we figured fuck those guys.”  
  
Shane smiled and clapped him on the shoulder like a brother.  
  
“Something smells great.”  
  
“Yeah, the dinner you were almost late for.”  
  
“Hey man, the key word there is 'almost.'”  
  
“I tried to get him out earlier,” Andrea said. “He was too afraid you'd want him to help.”  
  
“Traitor,” Shane said, already wrapping his arms around her waist. He kissed her on the cheek, and Daryl watched her fail to fight back a smile that lit her eyes up brighter than the damn tree before forcing them shut altogether.  
  
“Guess you know the way,” Daryl said, heading toward the dining table in the kitchen. He and Rick had found the leaves for it hidden away in the attic. That, the patio chairs, and a few Rick borrowed from the museum meant there was enough space for everyone (though it was a little iffy on the elbow room).  
  
Shane and Andrea took the two empty seats between Eric and Tara.  
  
“Think we're normally supposed to say grace or somethin to kick this off,” Daryl said. “But...” But he hadn't believed in God since his mother's death, and he didn't much feel like starting right that second.  
  
“We don't have to,” Rick said, reaching over to squeeze Daryl's hand on top of the table. “You could start a new tradition just for us.”  
  
“How 'bout just thank you all for comin. And thanks for everything you've all done for me and Rick. Thing is I ain't never had a family I really loved before. Kinda see what all the fuss was about now.” Daryl looked down at the table, turning his hand over underneath Rick's so he could wrap his fingers around the other man's palm and squeeze.  
  
“We love you too,” Maggie said, followed by a chorus of the others around the saying much the same.  
  
“Question,” Tara said. “If we don't love you, do we still get ham?”  
  
“Everyone ignore Tara and eat,” Daryl said.  
  
“Pass the dishes to the right,” Rick said. “Shane, don't take all the deviled eggs.”  
  
“I'm shocked by your accusations, Rick. Just shocked. Andrea, what are my legal rights against defamation like that?”  
  
“You can take back his Christmas present,” she suggested, heaping a scoop of mashed sweet potatoes onto her plate.  
  
“No,” Shane said. “I threw the receipt away. Also I'm not sure they do returns at the Ecstasy Palace.”  
  
“Is it weird I only want him to be kidding a little bit?” Eric asked.  
  
“I hope he's kidding,” Rick said. “Always makes for an awkward gift exchange when you get someone a pair of cufflinks and get back a plastic horse dick.”  
  
“God bless us, every one,” Tara said, staring wistfully into the distance before grabbing a slice of Maggie's homemade bread.  
  
“What makes you think it would be a horse dick?” Shane asked. “Maybe it's another jar of chocolate body paint and a candy g string.”  
  
“Then I'd be very upset,” Andrea said. “Since that's what I got _you_ for Christmas.” She winked at Rick.  
  
“Alright,” Daryl said, trying his hardest to stop snickering long enough to look stern. “Stop ruining this nice Christmas dinner with talks of horse dicks and ass cracks full of candy.”  
  
“I'm calling that for mine and Tara's band name,” Aaron said. “Asscracks Full of Candy.” He raised an eyebrow at Tara who nodded and gave him a thumbs up.    
  
“Sorry,” Shane said. “I mean, I ain't, but sorry.”  
  
“He'll shut up when his plate's full,” Rick said.  
  
“That's very true.” Andrea slapped a piece of ham on both her and Shane's dishes and passed on the platter.  
  
It was indeed true. As soon as every dish had finished making it around the group, Shane fell silent. Meanwhile the conversation around the table shifted into something a little less dildo-related. Glenn and Shane complimented Daryl on the food. Aaron asked Rick how things were going with setting up the museum. Maggie asked Andrea about the law program.  
  
“I think we decided on a date,” Eric said casually before taking a bite of green beans.  
  
“For your wedding?” Maggie asked. “Please tell me I can help.”  
  
“Of course,” Eric said. “You all can.”  
  
“We were thinking about June eleventh,” Aaron said. “It's a Saturday and my grandparents' anniversary.”  
  
“And my favorite uncle's birthday,” Eric added. “Plus school will be out.”  
  
“Where are you having it?” Maggie asked.  
  
“Well, my uncle said he'd pay the deposit for my Christmas present if it's available.”  
  
“The deposit where?”  
  
“The botanical gardens in Charlotte. Where someone took me on our first real date.”  
  
“He loves bees,” Aaron said. “And hummingbirds.”  
  
“I do.” Eric leaned over onto his shoulder for a brief second.  
  
“I've been to a wedding there before,” Andrea said. “It'll be gorgeous.”  
  
“I know,” Maggie said. "And you'll save a ton on flowers."   
  
Daryl looked over at Aaron who gave him a gentle smile and a little shrug. He probably would've let Eric pick the damn moon for a wedding venue as long as it meant he got to marry him.  
  
The conversation went on as the plates of turkey and yams were switched out for pies, cookies, and a stack of green-frosted cupcakes Eric built up in the shape of a Christmas tree.  
  
When they were all full, they moved into the living room where Rick and Daryl passed out all the presents under the tree.  
  
“One at a time or all at once?” Tara asked.  
  
Daryl looked down at the tiny pile between his legs and smiled. He'd never gotten so many presents in his life.  
  
“All at once,” he said.    
  
“Right answer.” Tara ripped into her first one. Daryl did the same.  
  
He knew it was from Maggie the second he opened it, even though he'd failed to read the tag in his excitement. Inside the box were two identical black long-sleeved shirts, just like the one she'd bought him for his first date with Rick.  
  
“Thanks Mags,” he said, holding them up. She looked up at him from one of her own boxes.  
  
“Now you've got a spare,” she said. “Just in case.”  
  
Daryl set them aside and started on the next thing in his pile. This was was from Shane, and he was a little wary of what it might contain after the dinner conversation. But he tore off the bright red paper anyway, letting out a little “ha” as soon as he saw what was inside. Rick glanced over at the present.  
  
“Shane, you dick.”  
  
Shane looked up, smiling and nodding like an asshole when he saw the reason for Rick's outburst.  
  
“Hey that's some good shit,” Shane said. “Even if your drunk ass ruined it for me.”  
  
“It is some pretty good shit,” Daryl agreed, holding the Eagles Greatest Hits CD in his fingers. A lime green post-it stuck to the front said “Merry Christmas, Desperado” in Shane's unholy scrawl.  
  
He opened Aaron and Eric's next, though he had a feeling Aaron had more to do with it. It was a light gray mechanic's jumpsuit with Daryl's name embroidered over the front pocket. He wanted to put it on at the first opportunity.   
  
“Thank you so much,” Daryl said, thumbing over the letters.  
  
“Now you can work on Rick's Mustang without ruining your jeans.”  
  
“Or wear it to bed,” Eric said. “If Rick's into that sort of thing.”  
  
“Rick's into every sort of thing,” Shane said casually while he examined a scarf knitted in school colors. "Kinky bastard."    
  
“Shane.”  
  
“Rick.”  
  
Daryl shook his head and added the suit to his pile.  
  
The next present came from Tara. The box held a disposable camera and a simple little black photo album with “Family” stamped across the front. Daryl opened the cover, surprised to find there were already pictures in it. There was one of him and Maggie from that first night they went out to Bounce. There were a few random ones from the dining hall, including a really nice one where he and Aaron seemed to be in the middle of laughing at a joke. And, his favorite, one from Halloween of him sitting in Rick's lap with the other man's arm wrapped around his middle, his bearded chin resting on his lover's shoulder.  
  
He smiled and looked up at Tara.  
  
“We never really kept a ton of photo albums growing up. My mom had one from when I was a baby with some pictures of us in it, but when I left home...” She shrugged. “Thought you might want to start one now that you have something worth photographing.” She took the disposable camera out of the box and hopped up, stepping over wrapping paper and open boxes until she was right in the doorway of the living room, pointing the lens at the whole scene. “Cheese, everyone.”  
  
Daryl leaned toward Rick instinctively, smiling even bigger when the other man wrapped his arm around his waist. The flash went off.  
  
“Hold on,” Andrea said, standing up from where she'd been half-sitting on the arm of the couch. She took the camera out of Tara's hands. “There should be one with you in it too.”  
  
Nodding the affirmative, Tara quickly made her way back through the living room, sliding down onto the floor next to Daryl and Rick.  
  
Another flash.  
  
“One more,” Tara said. “Everyone around Dare bear.”  
  
And then Daryl was being squeezed from all sides, hugged so tightly from every direction that he thought something would burst open. Everyone giggled and swore while they jostled for a good position, tickling each other and shoving playfully.   
  
“Ready?”  
  
“Ready.”  
  
Tara kissed him sloppy-wet on the cheek right before Andrea took the picture, and he knew without even seeing the developed film that he'd be frozen in mid-laugh forever.  
  
They finished up presents—turned out Shane had gotten Rick a documentary series that he'd been wanting forever and not a horse dildo, thank God.   
  
After gathering up all the wrapping paper and stacking everyone's open gifts neatly out of the way, Daryl fixed a tray of hot cocoa while the others piled the living room with every pillow and every blanket in the house. The plan was to marathon a DVD of classic Christmas specials before calling it a night.  
  
“I do have one more gift for you,” Andrea said quietly, accepting the last cup of cocoa and plopping in a marshmallow before leaning back against Shane's chest.  
  
“What's that?” Daryl asked.  
  
“Your father's lawyer called yesterday morning.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“He's settling. I'll have to get together with you to discuss the terms, but if you agree to them, it's over.”  
  
Daryl smiled and looked around the living room where everyone was climbing on top of each other. There was Glenn, his roommate who had loaned him that stupid sweater vest. There was Eric, the man who had been so kind when he'd been so wary of something like the GSA. There was Shane, the guy who helped him get the scholarship to escape his father's money. Andrea, who had gone to bat for him and Rick so many times without ever asking for a penny. Aaron, the wise boy who had given him such great advice and helped him out in the garage when he was injured. Tara, the smartass who had found the listing for Rick's job and decided it best that Daryl get to tell him. Maggie, his perfect best friend who had been there for him for literally everything from studying to making his way back into Rick's willing arms.  
  
And Rick—the old man, his chocolate chip—the man he'd grow old and die with. It felt like he'd known him since before he'd ever been born, and he knew that if they'd survived everything they had so far, there was no way anything would ever be able to tear them apart.  
  
It was then he realized that every single person he loved in the world was in one room. Every single one of them had been there for him when he (and Rick) had needed them most, and he knew they would be again the second he needed them to be.   
  
“You know, Andrea,” Daryl said, catching Rick's eye and smiling at him. “I think it already was.”  
  
Because the truth was that his old life had ended the second he stepped foot on the campus the old bastard had forced him onto. To know a life of unconditional love and acceptance after eighteen years of torment meant that his father had lost the battle before it had ever properly begun. No amount of threats or abuse would've ever changed that, nor would it have made his new family back down.  
  
“Thanks again for everything,” he said softly before putting the empty tray down and making his way over the piles of bodies in the living room to settle down next to Rick. The older man immediately engulfed him in his arms, and Daryl leaned back for a moment to nuzzle his cheek against Rick's beard, closing his eyes and losing himself in the feelings of warmth and the faint smell of strawberries.  
  
And no matter who got married and who moved where, Daryl knew, just knew, that with these people, with Rick—perfect, nerdy, understanding Rick—he would always be home.


	46. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to everyone who took this journey with Daryl and Rick. To the people who wrote me and told me how much my versions of these characters helped them, to the people who read this story a million times, to the people who read the updates when they were lightning fast and waited patiently when they were weeks apart. To the people who always left comments and to those who couldn't put into words how they felt. To every soul who read this story, I give you immeasurable thanks. This AU means more to me than I can express.

The sun beat down bright and warm on Daryl's skin, a nice contrast to the cool ocean breeze ruffling his hair. He closed his eyes, inhaling the smell of salt while he wriggled his toes in the sand.  
  
He only had a split second to appreciate it before Rick ran up, snaking his arms around his middle lifting him into the air before carting him the rest of the way into the water and dropping him in.  
  
“You're gonna pay for that,” Daryl threatened, laughing while he pulled himself up out of the gently rolling surf, flinging water out of his hair like he was starring in some inspirational Instagram photo.  
  
“Oh?” Rick asked.  
  
Daryl looked up at the other man, noting the wet waves plastered to his head and the little drops of water clinging to his beard. He squinted at his lover, blue eyes narrowed in the sunlight.  
  
“Mhm.”  
  
“Shit.”  
  
Rick took off immediately, calling back teasing little phrases while Daryl chased him down the beach, the two of them jogging one after the other down the wet strip of sand at the sea's edge, sending ocean water splashing up behind them with every step.  
  
Daryl caught him easily, jumping onto Rick's back and hanging on like a spider monkey, nipping playfully at the older man's shoulder and licking salt from the skin there.  
  
“And you're gonna pay for _that,”_ Rick said, dropping his voice low and sending a look back at Daryl that meant without a doubt they'd be testing the thickness of the hotel's walls later. God, he had no idea how they'd made it past airport security without Rick's bag of toys being opened up and inspected in front of the whole terminal.  
  
It was July, a full year of college gone and another on the horizon. Both men had turned a year older, Daryl in January and Rick in early May. Rick had opened up the museum to a steady stream of curious visitors, and Daryl had noted that more than one online review talked about the “sexy curator” and his “incredible blue eyes.”  
  
The two of them had attended Aaron and Eric's wedding in Charlotte a month prior (with Daryl serving as Aaron's best man). The two of them were already exploring options to adopt after graduation—both men in agreement that they wanted to take in someone older, one of the children in the system who likely thought they'd never get a home.  
  
Besides that, Maggie and Glenn were as strong as ever. Shane had given Andrea a key. And Tara had been flirting with one of the investors from Rick's museum constantly since she met her at the grand opening. Everything was, in Daryl's mind, just as it should be.  
  
Rick finally making good on that promise to take him to a real beach was just the perfect little maraschino cherry on top of life's sundae.  
  
“Look forward to it, old man.” Daryl slid off his back, letting Rick wrap him up in a kiss right there on the crowded Florida beach in front of the seagulls and everyone.  
  
“You always do, darlin. A glutton for punishment so long as it's a good hard spaking.” Rick reached up and ruffled his wet hair. “You know, with it sticking up like that, you really do look like a little duck.”  
  
“Yours,” Daryl said. “Only yours.”  
  
“There's a snow cone place down that way,” Rick said. “What do you think?”  
  
Daryl slid his hand into Rick's and jerked his head, letting the older man start leading them toward something cold and delicious.  
  
“You know, it still feels weird,” Daryl said, fiddling with the chain around his neck and the little silver Mustang hanging on the end.  
  
“What does?” Rick asked, playing with his fingers.  
  
“Being engaged. Been almost a year since we started this and it still feels so weird havin somethin I never thought I'd have.”  
  
Rick turned and looked at him, reaching out and touching the tiny car. Daryl knew the story. It had taken Rick forever to find something perfect, but when he had, he'd just known it was right. Daryl was inclined to agree.  
  
Rick had done it on the beach in Manteo where Daryl had been spending his summer with him at his new home away from home. They'd sat side-by-side in the sand like they had that night so long ago, with Daryl completely unaware of Rick's plans until it happened. It wasn't a one-knee affair or some elaborate thing with a million flowers and a skywriter. Just Rick pulling him close, slipping the necklace into his palm, and softly asking him to make forever official.  
  
Daryl wouldn't have considered another answer besides “yes” even if he'd been able to think of one.  
  
“Good weird though, right?” Rick asked, letting the necklace go and stroking it against Daryl's bare skin.  
  
“The best weird,” Daryl said, tucking himself in close to Rick's body and leaning into his neck. Even after a dip in the ocean, his skin still smelled like home.  
  
“I love you, sweetheart.”  
  
“Love you too, old man.”

Daryl let Rick take his hand again and lead him down the beach, the two of them grabbing ice cold snow cones and enjoying them under a big blue umbrella while the sun crept lazily toward the horizon. Somewhere between bites, Daryl looked over at his fiancée, a trickle of cherry syrup caught on the corner of the other man's mouth.  
  
A year prior, he'd been packing for college with Will Dixon looming over his every move, the four years at Alexandria University seeming more like a prison sentence than the step forward it had become. It was still easy to remember that fear and apprehension. It was even easier to remember the bright new promises the future held with all that firmly in the past.   
  
And as Rick turned to look back at him with an easy, loving smile before letting the younger man kiss the cherry from his lips, Daryl couldn't help but think that it's funny how the things in life that seem the worst can sometimes turn out to be the absolute best.   
  
###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things... 
> 
> 1\. You're always welcome to bug me on Tumblr at daryldixongrimes. 
> 
> 2\. I'm going to be writing some one shots related to this story. It'll be kind of a "deleted scenes" style thing. There's stuff that I had in my head that didn't make the final story because the plot changed, and there's other stuff that had no place because it didn't fit the POV, etc. So if you have any requests or curiosities, feel free to comment or message me on tumblr (anons are on if you're shy or want to call me a unicorn butthole). 
> 
> 3\. If you have any random questions, I have about a million things in my head that had no place in the story, so feel free to invite me to ramble at you with random information. 
> 
> 4\. I have a new story that's slated to be a multi-chap, though likely (hopefully?) not as long as this one. It's called of Love, Sex, and Telephone Wires and features Rick as a sultry phone sex operator and Daryl as a nervous first time caller. The first chapter is up and very porny. 
> 
> 5\. Again, thank you, thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart for sticking with this story until the very end.


End file.
